Bound by Moonlight
by Russet022
Summary: AU. Harry Potter has never learned Remus and Tilia Lupin's story. One night, he falls into their Pensieve, and the significant moments of their lives play out before his eyes as he waits for them to find him. Told as a selection of memories. COMPLETE.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling. Anything you recognize is hers. Tilia Manoran is mine.

A/N: This is a canonized version of Remus and Tilia's life and bears very little, if any, resemblance to my previously posted stories about them. "Moonless Nights" could, perhaps, be construed as something of a sappy follow-up, but it was written in a different style, and was not intended as such. As I said in one of my other author's notes--there are many different versions of Remus and Tilia's story. This is just the longest written one.

Bound by Moonlight

Prologue: The Pensieve

Harry Potter stumbled across Remus and Tilia Lupin's darkened sitting room, searching for the copy of _Quidditch through the Ages_ he was sure he had left on the cabinet that rested against the far wall. If Harry had not been so tired that he couldn't sleep, he would have thought to light his wand. Instead, he wandered blindly through the unfamiliar house that he hoped to call home, at least until he had enough of a job to support himself. He knew this was probably a bad idea since the Lupins weren't actually home yet, and if Harry blundered into anything strange or unknown they would not be there to help him out. And there were quite a few strange and unknown objects in the home of a Potions researcher.

Harry cursed as he tripped over an old cauldron that was mercifully empty. Much as he admired Tilia Lupin, her organizational skills, or lack thereof, were truly annoying at ten o'clock at night after a hard day's training and two hours spent tossing and turning in an attempt at sleep. During those two hours, the doubt a busy day kept at bay crept up on him. While he was thrilled to have been invited to stay with Remus and Tilia, the closest he could get to his real parents, and while he had readily accepted their invitation now that the war was over, he had realized that he knew very little about the two of them.

Remus and Tilia Lupin were a mystery, and Harry, though desperate to know more, was unwilling to push them to confide in him what they had told few others. They had been through more than most people could dream of in their darkest nightmares and had survived, a little battered, a little bruised, but with both their love and dignity intact. He would not press them to relive their lonely and pain-filled past for the sake of his curiosity. They cared for him, and that was enough.

Lost in his thoughts, Harry walked painfully into the side table beside the couch. Cursing fluently enough to appall Remus and make Tilia proud, Harry grabbed at the nearest thing he could in an attempt to stay upright. Instead, he tripped over the stack of books lying next to the table and fell forward into the cabinet he had been searching for. The door had been left open, for whatever reason, and he caught himself, not on wood, but on the rough stone basin edged in runes that sat on the bottom shelf. Before he could stop himself, the Pensieve had tipped up to meet him and he fell through darkness into the sunlit depths of memory.


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to Rowling. Tilia is mine.

A/N: This was begun after Deathly Hallows, so that's why Lily and Snape are wandering down the corridor; it's supposed to be after that scene with James and Sirius on the train in chapter 33 of DH.

One: The Hogwarts Express

Harry blinked as the blurred scene around him condensed into what was unmistakably the Hogwarts Express, already on its way out of King's Cross Station. Two students were in the compartment, sitting across from each other next to the window, but they weren't talking. They were reading and steadfastly pretending to ignore each other. Every time one would turn the page, however, they would glance at the other, flushing slightly and looking quickly away when they did this at the same time.

_They must be first years_, Harry thought. They didn't look older than eleven. The boy to the left was small, pale, with thick brown hair that flopped in his face. Every so often he would reach up and shove it irritably back out of his eyes. At first glance, Harry thought they were brown, but there was a hint of yellow in them, enough that they, along with his unusually pale skin, would mark him as odd. The girl to the right had long black hair and sharp, close-set blue eyes. She sat strangely rigid in her seat, back straight and head bent so that her hair swung in a glossy curtain that hid her pale face. When she glanced up, Harry was struck by her resemblance to Sirius, and, even more notably, to Bellatrix Lestrange.

Just as Harry's frustration with the two children's silence was mounting, the girl and boy turned a page simultaneously. The boy looked away as he had done before, but the girl merely glanced at her book, marked her page, and set the book aside quietly. She took a deep breath, steeling herself, then reached up and tucked her hair behind her ears with the deliberate air of one walking into an inevitable battle.

"Excuse me," she said in a far quieter voice than Harry had expected. Despite her soft tone, the boy flinched, startled. His gaze flickered up to meet hers; the uncertainty in her eyes stopped him from turning back to his book.

"I'm sorry, but I was wondering, since we're sitting here and all, if you could tell me your name? I'm Tilia Manoran." Though she had started steadily, by the time she reached her name her words were tumbling over each other in a nervous rush. She looked surprised that she had managed to say all of that to a stranger, someone who had not been pre-approved by her mother or her aunt.

"Oh, um." The boy paused as if trying to decipher her intent, as though afraid his name alone would give away his darkest secret. "Remus Lupin," he mumbled finally, not quite meeting her eyes.

Tilia looked down, unsure. Remus Lupin was most definitely not a name her mother had ever mentioned. She bit her lip, clearly trying to decide what to do. Silence filled the compartment. It was broken by a girl's voice in the corridor.

"I don't believe them. How rude could you possibly get?" The girl sounded extremely upset.

"Don't mind them, Lily. They want to be in _Gryffindor_," a boy responded. He said "Gryffindor" as though that explained everything. "I can't imagine why anyone with a family history in Slytherin would want to go to Gryffindor. They're known for being…"

The rest of the boy's sentence was lost to distance as the two continued past. Tilia didn't much care what the boy thought Gryffindors were; she had probably heard it at home. What she _did_ care about was the fact that a first year slated for Slytherin wanted to go elsewhere, and it wasn't her. That meant Sirius wasn't being a good boy like he promised, and if Sirius wasn't…why should she?

"What—?" Remus began, breaking her train of thought. He stopped when she looked at him. When he didn't continue, she raised an eyebrow in question. She had learned the look from her cousin Bella, and it always worked. It did not fail her now.

"What house do you want to be in?" Again, he did not meet her eyes as he spoke, unsure of himself and shy. Ever since…well, it had been a long time since he had someone other than his parents and the hired stable-hands to talk to. It didn't help that the Lupins owned and lived on a hippogriff farm; even Muggle children were beyond Remus' acquaintance.

Tilia tilted her head, contemplating her answer. Carefully, as though afraid Remus would explode if she somehow offended him, she said, "My father wants me in Slytherin. My mother said Ravenclaw would be acceptable, but I thought my father agreed rather reluctantly."

Remus sighed. "My parents don't have a preference. Dad was a Ravenclaw, and I'd like to maybe follow him. Mum was a Gryffindor, but I don't think I'll go there. I'm not really brave, you see." He paused, then said, "Where would you like to go? You never said."

Tilia's mind reeled for a moment. No one had ever questioned the fact that she would go to Slytherin; it was a fact of life. But did she really want to…? She looked up to see that Remus was waiting for an answer. "I don't know," she said quietly. "My father's word is law. It's always been a given that I'll go to Slytherin or suffer his displeasure. I never gave it much thought. I never want to ask for his anger, what comes without my asking is enough." She bit her lip and shifted uncomfortably, scuffing her shoes against each other. She seemed to think she'd said too much because she looked away, fingering her book.

Harry groaned; if he had to be stuck in Remus and Tilia's memories, he hoped that they would be interesting because he had no idea how to pull himself out of the Pensieve. Someone had always come and collected him. As far as he knew, Remus and Tilia were still out; they'd gone to dinner to celebrate their anniversary, and he didn't know when they would be coming back. He felt slightly guilty for intruding, but he reminded himself that it had really been an accident this time, and he _was _terribly curious as to what memories they had stored in the Pensieve, and he was sure that they would understand. If only the memory wasn't going to prove that Remus and Tilia really were as boring as Sirius had always claimed.

Before Tilia could pick up her book, Remus said, with a surprising amount of tact for an eleven-year-old, "What are you reading?"

Tilia looked back up at him and smiled shyly. Mist blurred the edges of Harry's vision, and the scene dissolved…

And reformed into the Great Hall, the starry sky shimmering over the welcoming feast. Harry took an empty seat at the Gryffindor table next to the clump of first years that was staring in wonder at the food that had just appeared.

Tilia and Sirius were sitting across from each other; they kept glancing at the Slytherin table as though expecting retribution to fall in the form of a lightning bolt from the ceiling. Both were clearly surprised that they were sitting here, as far from everything that had ever been expected of them as they could get. James wasn't going to stand for it.

"So, I was right. You _are_ all right," he said to Sirius from his seat next to Tilia.

"Yeah," Sirius replied coolly.

"How can you not care?" Tilia hissed at him. "My father—your mother—"

"Relax," Sirius said. "They're not here."

"Andromeda and Narcissa are," she replied, her tone betraying a little bit of fear at the thought of what her family would say when they found out.

"Eh." Sirius shrugged. "They're not Bellatrix."

"Who?" James asked, disliking the fact that they were ignoring him and talking about people he didn't know.

"They're our cousins," Sirius told him. "Oh, and Lia, this is James. James, this is my cousin Tilia." Her sharp "Don't call me Lia, Sirius," was lost as James nodded and Sirius turned to the boy sitting beside him and said, "Who are you?"

Remus, unhappy at being in the crowded hall this close to the full moon and at sitting next to one of the loudest boys he had ever met, was trying to make himself invisible and ask the blonde boy sitting on the other side of James for the potatoes at the same time.

"This's Remus," Tilia said. "We met on the train," she added defensively when Sirius raised his eyebrows in question, before turning to contemplate the quiet, pale boy beside him.

Remus ducked his head, shrinking under the scrutiny of the two black-haired boys. "Could you pass the potatoes, please?" he asked the blonde boy quietly, taking advantage of James and Sirius' silence. Their focus shifted to James' right.

"And who're you?" he asked.

"Peter Pettigrew," the boy responded, so excited to have been noticed by the other two that he dropped the edge of the potato bowl with a clatter as he spoke.

The red-haired girl across from Peter and next to Sirius turned at the noise. "Here," she said as she picked up the bowl of potatoes and held it out to Sirius.

"Thanks, but I've already got some."

"Honestly," she said, rolling her eyes. "You're supposed to pass them to the boy, Remus, who asked for them." Not only had she been listening to their conversation, she was plainly annoyed with Sirius.

"Yeah, honestly," James mimicked. "Where are your manners?"

"Don't _you_ talk about manners. You were just as rude to Severus on the train as he was." Her green eyes flashed dangerously.

"The Slytherin git?" Sirius asked, earning what was clearly the beginnings of a look that was to become her patented prefect glare in later years.

"Sorry," James said, not sounding apologetic at all. "And what is your name, Gorgeous?"

"Lily Evans, and don't call me that," was her stiff reply.

"What should I call you, if not by your name?" James asked, mock-serious. Lily resolutely turned her back on the group.

The scene began to swirl around Harry. He caught a last glimpse of James, looking highly affronted; Sirius, Tilia, and Peter were trying hard not to laugh and failing miserably, while Remus simply continued to look insignificant and overwhelmed. Harry wondered briefly if he ever did get his potatoes, but the scene reformed and Harry gave the feast no more thought.


	3. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize is J. K. Rowling's...Tilia and her family history are mine.

Two: A Werewolf

Remus trudged up the stairs to the boys' dormitories, head bent as though he carried a great weight. He paused as he reached the dormitory door, before slowly, reluctantly, raising a hand to pull it open. There was a bandage around his wrist.

As the door opened, the vague voices coming from behind it stopped. Harry followed Remus as the boy slid into the room, noticing, as he did, the plaque on the door that stated that the Marauders were second years. Once inside the dormitory, a glance out the window confirmed Harry's suspicions; the rising moon was only just beginning to wane.

The tired werewolf made directly for his bed, ignoring his roommates' unusual silence, and seeming to take for granted Tilia's presence in the room. Considering the conversation at the feast last year, Harry was certain she was a fairly common addition.

Just before Remus reached his bed, Sirius spoke.

"Aren't you even going to look at us?"

Remus turned, startled, and as he looked up Harry knew why he had kept his head bowed. A long scar ran down the right side of his face from temple to chin, already beginning to fade under Madam Pomfrey's expert care. They all stared at him.

"I thought you said you were going to visit your dad, because one of the hippogriffs attacked him," Peter said uncertainly. Remus nodded slowly.

"Then it was the hippogriff that got you?" Tilia asked skeptically. She seemed more relaxed than she had the year before. She was sitting on Sirius' bed, leaning back on her hands, and oddly at ease in a room full of tension, perhaps because she had known for a year what the others had only just figured out. Remus nodded again, carefully avoiding everyone else's eyes.

"Remus," James began, but Sirius cut him off.

"We know, and you're still lying."

A panicked look lit in Remus' amber eyes. "What are you talking about?" His voice was faint, barely more than a whisper. His reaction belied his words. He knew what they were talking about, and was tensing for the blow.

"You're a werewolf, and you didn't tell us," Sirius blatantly accused the other boy.

Remus sat down heavily on the edge of his bed, staring at his hands in his lap. He did not agree with or deny Sirius' statement. It was James who broke the silence.

"We've been doing a lot of research," he said, uncharacteristically serious.

Remus gave a sick little disbelieving sort of snort. "Wonderful. The first time you bother to do your own research…" he stopped on the verge of admitting that their accusations were correct. He looked up, slightly desperate, begging any and all of them to say something.

"It's okay, Remus," Tilia said with a small smile.

"Not really." He took a deep breath, waiting for them to reject him as his father's family had, as many of the stable-hands, who promptly turned in resignations when they found out what he was, had. Even his father's bloody _hippogriffs_ could tell there was something wrong about him and wouldn't let him near the stables. He had known the friendships he had made last year were too good to last.

The silence stretched until Remus thought he might burst from waiting. Finally, Sirius spoke in a petulant voice.

"You could have told us."

Remus shook his head, but it was Tilia who responded.

"Most people wouldn't accept a werewolf, you know." Her voice was flat, and a little bitter.

"Well, yeah, but we're not most people," Sirius said. "We're his friends."

The tight, miserable knot in Remus' chest began to loosen at Sirius' words. Tilia, however, was glaring at Sirius, and there was true bitterness in her voice when she spoke.

"So you'll accept lycanthropy in your friend but not in your own cousin?"

Now everyone was staring at _her_. She glared right back, ice in her sapphire eyes.

"What are you talking about?" Sirius asked. "You aren't, and none of Aunt Druella's—" His eyes suddenly went wide and his mouth formed a surprised "oh."

"What is it?" Peter asked nervously.

"David," Sirius said simply.

"You'd forgotten him already, hadn't you?" Tilia said angrily.

"Who's David?" James and Remus asked simultaneously. Tilia's anger ebbed as she sighed, turning away from her cousin.

"He was my brother." The boys exchanged looks at her use of the past tense. "You see, I ran away when I was six, and was safely returned home," she said. "David wanted to prove that he was just like me. He ran away, and got bitten.

"My father stopped caring about him, so my mother did too._ I_ never stopped loving him, though. When he—died—I continued to keep track of the full moon. That's how I knew that Remus was a werewolf."

She looked directly at him. "I've known since the beginning of last year. When they—" she indicated James, Sirius, and Peter, "—realized I knew where you disappeared to, I refused to tell them. It wasn't my job to tell your secrets. They started watching you, and guessed."

Remus nodded, relief flooding through him as he realized that she had accepted him as he was from the very beginning, the first person to have done so. She gave him a reassuring smile and he smiled hesitantly back.

Tilia turned back to Sirius, who was gaping at her with a rather stunned expression on his face. "What?" she snapped. Peter flinched away from her at her tone.

"Aunt Lianna told my mum that David had dragon pox."

"Dragon pox?" Tilia snorted. "They have a cure for that now. Professor Slughorn said that no one's died of dragon pox in years."

Remus watched the two of them arguing the veracity of Slughorn's statement with a growing sense of contentment. And when Sirius broke off his argument with Tilia to fall over-dramatically to his knees to beg Remus' help on his just-remembered Transfiguration homework, the werewolf actually laughed, releasing the last remnants of the tension in the room as he accepted their acceptance, and they all laughed with him.

As the scene dissolved, Harry laughed at Sirius' antics as well, and as he did so, he understood why Remus had been so willing to forgive Sirius for the misunderstanding that led to the Potters' deaths. They knew what he was and still valued his friendship. _And that_, Harry thought, _was the best gift of all_.

A/N: I apologize if Tilia's story seems a little cliché, but I needed a reason for her to completely accept Remus. Otherwise I don't think she would have agreed to marry him, since the whole werewolf thing seems to bother so many people, if Chapter 11 of Deathly Hallows is anything to go by...


	4. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is Rowling's. Tilia, the bookstore, and it's owner are mine.

Three: Not a Date

Snow swirled thickly across Harry's vision as the main street of Hogsmeade materialized around him. Tilia and Remus were huddled in front of the Post Office, checking a list and ticking items off with gloved fingers.

"So, we've got the postcards from the Post Office, and we've been to the quill shop—" Remus said, teeth chattering.

"And Zonko's," Tilia added, voice muffled by the Gryffindor-colored scarf wrapped over her nose. She had her hat pulled low so that only her sapphire eyes were visible. She looked considerably warmer than Remus.

The werewolf shuddered in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. "Don't remind me. It's a mad-house in there."

Tilia rolled her eyes. "Where else were we supposed to get James and Sirius' presents?"

"Couldn't we have just got them chocolates like Peter?" Remus asked.

"No." She mock-glared at her companion. "Pull your scarf up, your lips are blue," she added.

"Hey!" someone shouted. Harry whirled to see who it was, and groaned when he recognized Lucius Malfoy. "You're so cheap, Lupin. Didn't anyone tell you to take a girl someplace warm on a first date?"

If Remus hadn't been so red-faced from the cold, he would have flushed in embarrassment. Tilia ripped her scarf down and shouted back, "We're not on a date! We're Christmas shopping."

Malfoy snorted in contempt. "How cute."

Tilia pulled her scarf back up as the seventh year Slytherin walked away. "I'll be glad when he's gone," she said. "C'mon, let's get to Honeydukes. It's freezing out here."

Remus nodded, and they set off down the street, Harry following, invisible, in their wake.

The sweetshop was crowded; there were so many Hogwarts students chattering that the bell over the door couldn't be heard. Remus and Tilia edged their way inside and painstakingly collected the sweets they intended to give as gifts. They were good-naturedly arguing over whether Peter would like Bertie Bott's better than Chocolate Frogs, or if it wouldn't be better to just get a little bit of both, when a seventh year Gryffindor walked up to them.

"Do you need any help?" he asked. "Only, chocolate is so much more romantic, if you're buying for your date," he continued without waiting for a reply.

"Thank you," Tilia said, "but if this was for me, I prefer peppermint."

"Nice to have a straightforward girl, isn't it?" the boy asked. "Though peppermint's not exactly traditional."

Remus found his voice. "I wouldn't know, as I've never been on a date."

A perplexed look crossed the older boy's face. "But—"

"We're Christmas shopping for a mutual friend," Tilia said firmly, before turning pointedly away from the boy. "Remus, let's get Peter some Pumpkin Pasties; James was going to get him Chocolate Frogs."

Remus sighed. "Why didn't you say that to begin with?"

"Because I only just remembered."

The two paid for their purchases and, by mutual consent, they headed for the Three Broomsticks. Once inside the packed pub, they squeezed into a just-vacated booth at the very back. Remus placed his shopping on the seat for Tilia to watch while he went to get a couple butterbeers. Tilia pulled out their checklist and began crossing off names. She jumped when Remus plunked her butterbeer on the table, looking thoroughly disgruntled.

"Are we almost done?" he asked.

Tilia nodded. "I just want to stop at the bookstore. I wonder how Sirius' date went?"

"Please don't mention dates anymore," Remus said.

"It's December 18 today," she said seriously.

Remus rolled his eyes, sighing huffily. "Not those kind of dates…honestly, I think James is rubbing off on you."

"James? Rubbing off on me? Surely not," Tilia said in mock-horror, effectively changing the subject.

Ten minutes later, two Ravenclaws came up to their table. "Are you almost finished?" one of them asked.

"That's rather rude," Tilia said.

"Well, we figured you wouldn't be staying long. Everyone on a date goes to Madam Pudifoot's when they see how crazy it is in here."

Remus reddened. "You're the fourth person to tell me that in the past half-hour, thank you."

Tilia giggled, suddenly understanding Remus' bad mood. "We're not on a date," she told the Ravenclaws. "C'mon, Remus, let's get to Delia's."

The Cat's Corner was a small bookshop buried far down one of the side streets of Hogsmeade. It did not sell the usual assortment of spell books Harry had expected, but Muggle literature. Apparently there was a small group of wizards and witches in search of a good story who were willing to look for those stories in Muggle fiction. Most of the sales were made by word of mouth among the customers.

Delia, whom Tilia and Remus had met two months ago on their first trip to Hogsmeade, turned out to be the owner of this shop. Glad of customers, Delia welcomed the two in, and they both carefully moved in opposite directions.

Finally, after what seemed an age to Harry, who wasn't particularly interested in any sort of Muggle literature, Tilia and Remus made their way to the counter, each carefully hiding their purchases from the other. Harry had a feeling they were buying presents for each other.

As Delia handed Remus his parcel, she said slyly, "Now, are you two sure you don't want to look for something more romantic? Maybe something by Austen?"

"No," they both said, hurrying to the door.

The wind whistled on the way back to the castle, making it difficult for them to hear each other, let alone hear someone else implying that they were dating. They arrived in the common room, sure they were free of the mess, to find that their friends were already there and causing trouble as usual.

Sirius broke off in the middle of the bawdy song he was singing to call, "Hey, Remus. How was your date with my fair cousin?"

"It wasn't a date!" they shouted in unison, and the scene swirled as they bolted for their respective dormitories.


	5. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is Rowling's. Tilia is mine.

Four: The Dare and the Dance

"Avery, I've got an idea." Harry heard Snape's voice before he saw him.

"Talk to Mulciber. I've got too much Transfiguration homework," Avery replied. Harry wondered why he was hearing the Slytherins' voices, and why it was still dark around him.

"What is Snape supposed to talk to me about?" A tapestry opened suddenly, and Harry, blinking in the sudden light flooding the passageway, lost track of the Slytherins' conversation as he scrambled to catch up with Remus. The hallway was crowded; the last class before dinner had probably just ended. Harry was glad he wasn't really there; Remus was ducking and weaving efficiently through the crowd and Harry would have had a hard time keeping up with him if he had actually been bumping into all the people he appeared to be.

As Remus made to dodge the small clump of Slytherins, Mulciber stuck out his foot, and the werewolf went sprawling, his books scattering across the floor.

"Hey, Loopy, where're your friends? We've got a bone to pick with them."

Remus sighed. "This wouldn't have anything to do with Snape's Shrinking Solution and an Engorgement Charm, would it?"

The three Slytherins glared at Remus as the werewolf got gracefully to his feet. "Why is it that I always get picked on for _their_ pranks?" he asked conversationally.

"Because we know that you help them, but somehow the _perfect prefect_ manages to avoid detention," Snape said with a sneer.

"Ah." Remus nodded in understanding. "If you'll excuse me, then; it's nearly dinner and I'm hungry."

He bent to collect his belongings, and Mulciber pushed him, sending him to the floor a second time. Remus sighed and gathered his books before getting up again, clutching them to his chest. He made to walk away, but Avery called, "Wait a minute."

The werewolf turned, reaching up with one hand to push his hair out of his eyes. "Yes?" he prompted, tapping his left foot in annoyance.

Avery and Mulciber both nudged Snape, who looked startled that they were giving him the lead. "You're a prefect, Lupin," he began rather lamely.

"You've mentioned," the Gryffindor said impatiently.

"Why can't you keep Potter and Black in line?" Snape asked snidely. Remus looked away. It seemed Snape had hit a sore point.

Avery laughed unpleasantly. Turning to his companions he said, "Perhaps it's because Lupin's in love with Black." Snape and Mulciber laughed as well.

Remus rolled his eyes. "Oh, please. If that's all you've got to say, I'm off to eat something."

"Would Black's face suffice?" Mulciber called.

Silently cursing bad phrasing, Remus looked back and said, "We are not snogging, nor do I have any desire to do so." His tone was pleasant, neutral, but Harry could tell that he was upset.

"Prove it," Snape hissed. Remus raised his eyebrows in question. "Take a girl to the dance, Lupin, and she'd better be good-looking or we'll tell the whole Hall at lunch that you fancy Black."

They walked away, laughing, leaving Remus gaping after them.

The hallway blurred and reformed. Avery and Snape had found Tilia, who was arguing with Lily about the latest theory Professor Flitwick had brought up in class.

"Manoran," Snape said, interrupting. "You know Avery, I presume."

Tilia nodded, a cold look in her eyes.

"Well, he needs a date for the dance," Snape said in a rush.

"Sorry," Tilia said. "I've already got a date. Excuse me, Lily." She walked away, ignoring Snape's shout of, "Who is it?"

And then the scene blurred again and Harry recognized the boys' dormitory, though it was slightly messier than it had been three years previously. Tilia was sprawled on her stomach across Sirius' bed, her chin propped on her crossed arms. Remus was leaning back against his headboard, eyes closed, playing with the edge of his pillowcase.

"Hey, Remus?" she asked. He opened his eyes and looked at her. "What's up?"

"The ceiling," he said dryly. Tilia rolled her eyes.

"Something's bothering you." She pushed herself up on her elbows, resting her head in one hand and brushing her hair back with the other. Harry realized with a jolt that she had cut it; where it had once hung to her waist, it now barely reached past her chin, and she looked more like the Tilia he knew. Perhaps that was why it had taken him so long to notice.

Remus sat up a little straighter, avoiding her eyes. "It's just—Snape."

"Snape?" she asked. "What did he want?"

"To dare me to take a pretty girl to the dance," he said.

"And if you don't?"

"He'll have Mulciber tell the whole Hall at lunch that I fancy Sirius," he told her hollowly.

Tilia winced. "Ouch."

"Yeah," Remus said dejectedly. "And I wasn't planning on going."

"I know." They sat in silence for a moment before a look of comprehension crossed her face. "Perhaps that's why Snape asked me to go to the dance with Avery."

"What?" Remus yelped, twitching fully upright and banging his elbow on the headboard. "Ow," he muttered, rubbing at it absently as he stared at Tilia incredulously.

"Yeah. I told him I was going with someone else."

"Who is it, and why did I not know about this?" Remus demanded.

"I think James is rubbing off on you. Can't a girl have a secret?" she said, her eyes sparkling.

"Sorry," Remus murmured, hanging his head. Then he looked up, and, with a fair imitation of Sirius' puppy eyes, said, "Please?"

Tilia laughed at his expression and said, "My date's first name is No and his last name is One."

"So you lied," Remus said flatly.

"Oh, come on, Remus," Tilia whined. "It's not like I ever lie to you."

"No, but—" he hesitated, "—you shouldn't," he said quietly.

Tilia bit her lip at his obvious disapproval. "Bella would actually use it, you know. Not just the little stuff I do."

Harry remembered someone mentioning once that Tilia was the last to inherit the Black family 'gift' with words: an almost foolproof ability to lie and manipulate. Her truly Slytherin cousins envied her; Tilia had never wanted it and used it as sparingly as she could, and never against her friends. He assumed this was what they were discussing now.

Remus sighed and looked away, apparently not yet comfortable with it. Harry wondered what would cause him to accept it.

Tilia crossed her arms on the scarlet bedspread and dropped her head back down on them so she couldn't quite see Remus. From this position she asked, "So, who are you going to take to the dance?"

Remus' gaze flickered to her and away again. "Well, I was going to ask you," he said slowly.

Her head snapped up and she stared at him, mouth slightly open in surprise.

He saw her expression and swallowed, hastily adding, "Just as friends, you know."

Tilia swallowed as well, nodding. "Okay." It was almost a question, and she seemed unaccountably nervous, since they were friends going to spend a night out as friends.

Remus took a deep breath and said to the pillow he was steadfastly staring at, "So, you'll go to the dance with me?"

"Yeah," Tilia replied to Sirius' bedspread.

The scene swirled.

For a moment, as the Entrance Hall took shape around him, Harry thought he was waiting for the Yule Ball to begin and glanced around for Parvati Patil. Then he recognized the four boys grouped in front of him, though Tilia was, unsurprisingly, the only one of the Marauders' dates that Harry knew. She was dressed all in sapphire, and her robes hung so that they just accented her natural beauty. She wore no make-up, but she didn't need to. Remus, dressed smartly in fawn-colored robes, couldn't take his eyes off her.

Severus Snape gaped at the pair as he passed them.

Harry was spared the ordeal of waiting hours for the dance to end. Instead, he found himself in the darkened common room as the clock chimed one in the morning. Remus and Tilia were the only ones there, standing in front of the banked fireplace. They were talking quietly, saying goodnight, when Remus hesitantly leaned towards Tilia, and she leaned up to meet him.

It was a very brief first kiss, and they both flushed, embarrassed, when they pulled apart. But when they looked at each other again, they smiled shyly, and it was only after a slightly longer kiss that they parted for their respective dormitories with telling smiles on their faces.

_So much for "just friends,"_ Harry thought wryly as the scene changed again.

A/N: I apologize for my little jab at all the Sirius/Remus fics out there...I just couldn't resist. And, as it has come to my attention that I didn't explain the Black family 'gift' in quite the way I meant it...This so-called 'gift' is merely the fact that the Black family is raised to be the best at lying and twisting words and people to suit their own purposes. Tilia learned because the family said she had to, and because she has something of an affinity for it--hence "the last to inherit" a knack for a value the family holds. I apologize for not making it clearer; it was merely an oversight caused by too much familiarity with the concept, as it has appeared in numerous of my variations...


	6. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: What you recognize belongs to J. K. Rowling. Tilia is mine.

Five: The Marauders

Tilia, James, Sirius, and Peter stood in a loose circle in the boys' dormitory. They all had their eyes closed in concentration, but every once in a while one would quickly glance at the others to see if anyone was getting anywhere, but none of them seemed to have much hope of it, as though they all wondered why they were even trying anymore.

Suddenly, Sirius let out a gasp and began to shrink rapidly until the familiar large, shaggy black dog stood in the boy's place in the circle. He barked and spun around, trying to see his tail.

James stuck his tongue out at Sirius as he reappeared, grinning. He scrunched his eyes behind his glasses, desperately trying to prove that he could do anything his best friend could. A minute later a stag stood where James had been; he shook his head and his antlers caught in the bed curtains beside him. The others laughed as the stag fought the curtains for a moment, before remembering that a boy didn't have antlers, and James reappeared, flushed with success and embarrassment.

Tilia took a deep breath and closed her eyes again. Harry felt the scene tilt, and knew she had done it. He looked beside himself and saw a small blue-black fox with startlingly sapphire eyes turn in a circle, watching her paws and her bushy, white-tipped tail.

The scene tilted back up and Harry saw that Tilia was grinning as broadly as Sirius. Peter frowned, chewing nervously on his lower lip, unsure that he could do this, but afraid to be left behind. Fear won out over self-doubt as he scrunched up his nose, closed his eyes, and focused like he never had before. He began to shrink, and kept on shrinking until he was level with the others' feet, a small grey rat with a bald tail.

It was at that moment, as the other three began to congratulate each other, that Remus walked in. He paused, looking perplexedly at his three grinning friends.

"Er, where's Peter?" he asked by way of greeting.

"I'm right here," Peter said as he stood up.

"Er," Remus' brow furrowed in confusion. "Why were you under the bed?"

"I wasn't," Peter said indignantly.

"We have something to show you," Tilia told Remus.

"We finally did it," Sirius chimed in unhelpfully. "We've been trying for ages, and the last few times we started, but we never got it to finish, and we finally did it."

"Did what?" Remus asked warily, stopping Sirius' rambling.

"We've become Animagi," they chorused. Remus sat down heavily.

"Are—are you serious?" he asked weakly. His friends nodded.

"Here," Tilia said. "We'll show you."

Remus stared at them as they transformed painlessly and effortlessly in front of his eyes. He grinned at them as they stood up again, any sense of disapproval vanishing in wonder at their success.

"Now we just need nicknames like you, Moony," Sirius said excitedly. They all nodded, thinking.

"Well, James could be, I don't know, Prongs or something," Remus mused. "Because of the antlers."

"I was thinking Rudolph," Sirius said.

"Excuse me," James said, affronted. "I am not a reindeer, nor do I have a red nose."

"Prongs it is then," Tilia said, smiling. "Sirius should be Grim, because he looks like one."

"I can't go around being called 'Grim,'" he complained.

"There're other names for grims, though," Remus said thoughtfully.

"What, Shaggydog?" Tilia laughed. Sirius glared at her.

"No," James said. "More like Padfoot, or something.

"Yeah!" Sirius said. "Padfoot. I like it. And you," he shot at Tilia, "can be Blackie."

"No!" Tilia yelped. "The next person who calls me 'Blackie' will be hexed to the moon."

"Okay, okay," Sirius said. "Red, then. It's _almost_ as far from black as you can get."

"Russet is more elegant," Remus said.

"I like Russet," Tilia grinned.

"Of course you do," Sirius grumbled. "Darling Remus suggested it."

"Oh, get over it," Tilia snapped. "You were all keen for us to get together third year."

Sirius grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, "That was third year," as Peter said, "What about me?"

"Wormtail," Sirius snapped, taking his temper out on the other boy.

"That's cruel, Sirius," Tilia said.

"It's the truth," he replied.

"I'm sure there are other options," Remus said.

"No," Peter interjected timidly. "Wormtail's fine. I—I don't want to be any trouble."

"It isn't—" Remus began, but Sirius cut him off.

"He likes it, so give it a rest, Moony. Right, Wormtail?" Peter nodded quickly. Tilia sighed.

"And now we get to endure Sirius calling us all exclusively by our nicknames."

"What else are nicknames for?" Sirius asked in wide-eyed mock-innocence.

They all laughed, an outlet for their happiness, and Harry was sure that they had never been as whole or as happy together as they were that day, when they sealed their bond as friends in a way that was new and unbreakable in their fifteen-year-old eyes.


	7. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: What you recognize belongs to J. K. Rowling. Tilia is mine.

A/N: I took the liberty of making up the details of the "prank" that Sirius played on Snape. I hope it isn't too out of character, but I didn't want to make it completely purposeful on Sirius' part, because then Remus would never have forgiven him...

Six: The Aftermath

Harry blinked in the morning light that streamed into the hospital wing. The familiar curtains were drawn around Remus' bed, though Madam Pomfrey was nowhere to be seen. Tilia sat in a chair beside her boyfriend, worry plain in the way she was fidgeting. The werewolf wasn't awake yet, but externally there didn't seem to be too much wrong with him, nothing to merit her worry.

Remus stirred, blinked, then groaned, and pressed his hands over his eyes. Tilia leaned forward, but her anxiety seemed to increase rather than decrease.

"What time is it?" Remus asked around a yawn. He tried to sit up, wincing.

"Don't," Tilia said, gently pushing him back down. "You did a lot of damage to yourself last night. And it's ten o'clock."

"I—" he stopped as he saw the look on her face. His eyes widened in fear and worry. "What happened? Where are James and Sirius and Peter?"

"Peter is in class. James and Sirius are in the Headmaster's office with Snape," Tilia said.

Remus relaxed slightly. "What did they do this time?"  
Tilia shifted nervously. "James had nothing to do with it. It—it was just Sirius. He—" Tilia's voice was shaking with anger. Her words came faster as she continued to speak, tumbling over each other as she grew more agitated. "I can't believe him. I thought—he said he just wanted fresh air. I never thought he would ever—he could have killed—but he doesn't think. I—when I saw him this morning I could have _murdered_ him, I was so angry. I'm not talking to him—"

Remus' amber eyes widened. "Killed? Killed who? How?" he asked urgently.

Tilia looked away. "S—Snape."

"How?" Remus repeated desperately.

"He—he—oh, Remus, he told Snape how to get past the Whomping Willow." Her voice was anguished.

Remus lay there, stunned. Fear and anger flooded him as they had filled the wolf the night before, but both were overridden by the entirely human emotions of disbelief and betrayal. Sirius was one of his best friends; Sirius had been the one to suggest they become Animagi for him. Sirius wouldn't have—_couldn't_ have…

"How—" Remus paused, his mouth dry. He swallowed. "How did—what happened?"

"Sirius told Snape—"

"From the beginning," Remus said firmly, dread settling in his stomach despite the assurance that they were all at least physically all right and talking to the Headmaster.

So Tilia began at the beginning, how Sirius had told James he wanted some fresh air before their detention, and had come back smug but unwilling to say what he had done. Tilia hadn't liked it, and had followed them as they left for the dungeons. Before they actually reached Slughorn's classroom, Sirius had confessed that he'd run into Snape and accidentally let slip how to get passed the Willow, but was certain he had convinced Snape not to go prying, and James and Tilia, who knew better, had hurtled off. James had gone down the tunnel and pulled Snape out, and once they were gone Russet had stayed in a vain attempt to calm the angry werewolf.

Tilia had seen both Sirius and James as she headed for the hospital wing and they for Dumbledore's office. Snape had, at that time, already been to see the Headmaster.

As Tilia finished, James and Sirius came in, followed by Dumbledore. James rushed over to grab Remus' hand, babbling in relief that he was okay. Sirius hung back, scuffing the floor with his feet, apparently fascinated by the stone he was standing on. He didn't meet anyone's eyes.

Remus looked quickly to the Headmaster, who smiled kindly at him.

"Professor, I—"

"It is all right, Remus. It was not your fault; I will not punish you when you are not to blame."

Remus nodded, then grimaced. "Is Snape okay, sir?"

Dumbledore looked suddenly grave. "Yes, he is fine. Startled, perhaps, and a little frightened, but otherwise unharmed. I have forbidden him to tell anyone what he saw."

Remus began to protest, not sure he could trust Snape, but Dumbledore held up a hand. "He has given me his word. That should be enough for all of us."

A look passed between Remus, Tilia, and James, leaving Sirius out. Remus looked back at Dumbledore and nodded his assent.

"Good. I hope you have a pleasant rest this afternoon." Dumbledore nodded to them all and left.

Sirius moved slowly forward without looking up. "Remus, I—I'm—sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't think; he kept saying all this stuff, and I was upset after that—episode—the other day…" he trailed off, waiting for Remus to say something.

"So you used me, for no really good reason," Remus accused. Sirius didn't seem to be able to look at him. "You thought it was convenient, a clever way to frighten him, to get him back for something you took the blame for," Remus hissed softly. The fact that he was perfectly controlled was scarier than if he had shouted. But Remus was never angry outwardly.

Sirius shook his head. "No. I—I'm sorry," he said insistently.

"Yes," Remus murmured. "I'm sorry, too. Sorry that, in the end, I'm nothing more than a werewolf to you."

"Remus, that isn't—you know I don't—" But Sirius looked everywhere except at the other boy. "I'm sorry," he said with more real apology than anyone had ever heard from Sirius Black.

Remus turned away from his friend. "I'm sorry, Sirius, but until you can look me in the face and say it, I cannot accept your apology."

Sirius looked to James, who shrugged. He turned to Tilia, who had been glaring at him since he had started talking. Her expression did not change. Sirius blinked, as though fighting tears, but he did not cry. Instead, he turned on his heel and left the hospital wing with head held high, and without once glancing at Remus.

Down in the Entrance Hall, apparently later that night, Tilia cornered Snape without telling Remus what she planned to do. There was steely purpose in her eyes, and Snape looked wary as she approached him.

"Snape," she said coldly.

"Manoran," he replied. "To what do I owe the pleasure of—?"

"The Headmaster may trust you, Snape," Tilia cut across him, "but I do not. How can I know you won't break your word to Dumbledore and slip? You care nothing for what happens to Remus."

"I don't know why you're defending the filthy—" Snape began sneeringly.

"Because he had nothing to do with it. He didn't know." She stopped the obvious conclusion of Snape's sentence. The Slytherin sniffed in disbelief.

Tilia glared at him. "Promise me you won't tell anyone."

"I already—" Snape protested, but stopped at the ugly look twisting Tilia's face. "I promise not to tell anyone what I saw that night," he said meekly. Tilia nodded haughtily.

"Thank you," she said stiffly, blinking, and her expression returned to normal.

As the scene swirled, Harry realized that Snape's sneering had once been a cover for discomfort and fear, and had become habit over the years. He also thought he had seen the Black family 'gift' in use, and he didn't like it. He suddenly had no trouble understanding why Remus was opposed to her using it, nor any trouble believing what the Ministry had said about her being dangerous. Harry was very glad that she had been on his side during the war.

Then the next scene came into focus. Remus, Tilia, and Lily were sitting by the fire in the common room, doing their homework. Sirius, James, and Peter were in a shadowy corner, discussing something in whispers. Harry had the impression that the two factions hadn't been speaking to each other in months.

Suddenly, Sirius stood up decisively and made his way over to stand in front of Remus' chair. The werewolf glared up at the taller boy.

Sirius didn't give Remus a chance to speak. As soon as the other boy's eyes met his, he said, "Remus, I'm sorry."

Tilia's head jerked up to watch the exchange as Remus' expression softened.

"Padfoot," Remus began.

"Yes?" Sirius asked eagerly.

Remus took a deep breath. "I want you to know that it isn't okay, that it won't ever be okay—" Sirius' face fell, "—but," Remus continued, "I value your friendship, and I understand that you realize you made a mistake, and—and—oh, bugger it, I can't remember the rest of my speech, but there you have it. I—do you think we could start talking again? I miss you guys."

Sirius' face lit up in pure joy, and Tilia and Remus exchanged an exasperated look as their friend completely disregarded the most important point Remus had made in favor of focusing on the fact that he had his two friends back. The scene dissolved as Sirius dragged them back across the common room, quietly and excitedly muttering about his and James' brilliant idea for a moving map of Hogwarts.


	8. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: What you recognize belongs to J. K. Rowling. Tilia and Remus' family are mine. And yes, I know Mr. and Mrs. Lupin's names are not conventional...just for the record, Mr. Lupin's middle name is also John. So they didn't pull that out of the blue for Remus, even if Remus' first name seems random...

Seven: Christmas Seventh Year

Harry watched Tilia appear on the front porch of the small, snow-covered farmhouse, broomstick in hand. Her urgent knock was answered by a tall, imposing man with grey hair and pale blue eyes. He stared at Tilia for a long moment, then suspiciously asked, "Can I help you?"

"Mr. Lupin?" she asked. When he nodded, she said, "I know we haven't met before, but I'm Tilia Manoran, and I need to talk to Remus, please." Her voice shook with the cold and with nervousness.

"Who are you?" he asked her.

Before she could answer, a familiar voice called, "Who is it, Dad?"

"Some girl, asking for you," Mr. Lupin said. Remus appeared in the doorway, frowning slightly. The frown deepened from confusion to concern when he saw her.

"Tilia, are you all right? What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I couldn't stay any longer," she said. "Bella—Anyway, I couldn't go to Sirius; he's staying with James, so…" She bit her lip.

Remus saw his father's confusion, but chose to ignore it for the moment as the wind gusted through the doorway. "You'd better come in. And don't tell me you flew all the way from London."

"Of course not," she scoffed as he pulled her inside and shut the door. "I Apparated once I was far enough away. I didn't want them to try to stop me, or find out where I was going. That wouldn't have been fair to you."

Remus frowned. "Wouldn't have been fair to James," he said. "You were going to Sirius first."

Tilia shook her head. "No. I was going to come to you first, but then I thought that since Sirius was family, it might be more appropriate to go to him…But I didn't want to put more pressure on the Potters—and I wanted to see you."

"Oh," Remus said, smiling. She smiled back as he took her cloak from her and hung it on top of his own.

"Nicholas?" a woman's voice called suddenly. "What's going on?"

"I don't know, Melissa," Mr. Lupin said as a woman with long blonde hair and chocolate brown eyes came out of the living room.

"Mum, Dad," Remus said quietly, "this is my friend Tilia, and I'm not entirely sure what's going on either." He looked at her questioningly.

She sighed. "It's simple, really. My mother had two of my aunts and three of my cousins over for dinner. My eldest cousin, Bellatrix, she kept going on about how I had to think of my future now that graduation was approaching, and she kept talking about the 'glory of the cause,' and how Sirius was a fool, and that I should stand against traitors like him. She said she could get me an in.

"I couldn't stay after that, so I, well, I'd never unpacked, so I spelled my trunk into my pocket and flew out the window. I'd probably Apparated before they noticed I was gone, but I didn't want to risk getting caught." She looked at Remus. "You _know_ I'm not on their side. I couldn't be."

Remus nodded, but Mr. Lupin frowned. "The 'glory' of what cause?" he asked.

"You-Know-Who's," Tilia whispered. Mrs. Lupin's breath hissed in disbelief. "But I can't—I'm not—" Tilia said insistently.

"I know," Remus said quietly. He looked at his parents. "She's my best friend. I trust her," he told them. He glanced at her, then asked, "Could she stay for the rest of Christmas?"

Mr. and Mrs. Lupin looked at each other.

"Please?" Remus added.

Remus had never really asked for anything before. He'd always been a good kid, and independent. He'd taken care of anything he could by himself. Mr. Lupin sighed. "I suppose she can stay."

"Thank you," Tilia whispered as the scene blurred.

It reformed on what was an apparently warmer day not long after the previous memory. Remus and Tilia were sitting on an old log at the edge of a frozen pond not far from the small farmhouse. They were wearing cloaks and gloves, but had forgone hats and scarves. They were attempting to have a conversation that would not be overheard.

"I'm sorry about Mum, Tilia," Remus said.

"She's nicer than my mother," Tilia replied.

"Anyone would be nicer than your mother."

"Not Aunt Walburga…but it's all right, really," she said, smiling. "I'm just not used to getting so much attention."

Remus shrugged and Tilia laughed softly. "Honestly. Only you would apologize because your mum is too nice." He laughed too.

"Yeah, you're probably right."

They sat in comfortable silence for a long moment before Remus shoved his hair out of his face nervously and said, without looking at Tilia, "You know, my dad didn't believe me the other day when I told him you were my girlfriend. I tried to convince him by pointing out that we've been dating for two years, and that almost made him doubt me more."

"You told him, then?"

"He wanted to know why you thought to come to me first."

"Should I not have?" she asked, her brow creased in confusion.

Remus glanced at her, and then went back to staring out over the pond. "Well, he was certain that no one would ever knowingly date a werewolf."

"Oh," she said.

"And I've been thinking," he added, when Tilia said nothing more. "Dad's not the only one who thinks that. Eventually, if we stay together, other people will say stuff too. Not just about me, but about you," he said, finally meeting her eyes.

"I know," she said, shrugging.

"He thinks you're a bit of a fool," Remus murmured. He nervously picked at the bark of the old log they were sitting on, but stopped when she put her hand over his.

"Why?" she asked.

"I think it's because he thinks you're not afraid," Remus said, a touch bitterly. "I mean, everyone says they're not afraid—Mum, Dad, James, Sirius, even Peter—but sometimes, I know they are. Even Sirius, who is never afraid of anything, is sometimes. I can tell. But everyone denies it, thinking I don't notice. And I don't want to say I do, but—I know they are."

He looked up at her and said reproachfully, "You've never said anything about it."

She sighed. "It's complicated."

"What?" he said, surprised. He'd been expecting solid denial from her.

She thought for a moment, then said, "No. I'm not afraid of you—wait! Hear me out." She stopped his protest. "I am afraid of what you could become, of losing you to the wolf."

He sat back, staring at her. She was looking at him, her intense sapphire eyes boring into his amber ones with the need to explain herself.

"I remember that first full moon we stayed with you. You made us promise not to look, but I could hear you, and somewhere in the middle your scream just—_changed_, and it was a howl. And when we turned—I felt so small compared to Moony. I've never been more afraid. I couldn't move, and you, well, _Moony_ started towards me and I thought I had no chance.

"He stopped in front of me, and I understood what you meant. It wasn't you; for a moment there were devils in his eyes and I nearly pissed myself. But then, something changed, and I could almost recognize you behind his eyes, and he just touched his nose to mine and I could move again."

Tilia leant forward and gripped his hands. "I am not afraid of you, Remus. You are nothing to fear. But I am afraid of what might happen if you ever lose yourself."

She bit her lip and looked away when he didn't respond. He simply continued to stare for a moment. Then he pulled his hand from her grip and tilted her chin up so he could look her in the eye.

"You're the first person who's ever admitted that you are afraid," he said wonderingly. "Because, even I, sometimes, am scared of the wolf. But I promise you that I will do my best to not lose myself. That's what scares me. And," he paused, "you've never judged me by the wolf."

"Because you're not the wolf," she said. "Oh, he's a part of you," she continued when he raised his eyebrows, "but the wolf does not define you."

Remus looked away, his usual doubts melting from his perception of Tilia. For once, someone had said the right things at the right time. Another feeling swelled in to replace the doubt. It wasn't new, but it had been languishing behind the doubt for so long that he didn't immediately recognize it.

"Remus?" she asked. "Are you okay?"

He smiled at her, a large smile she rarely saw on his face. Then he kissed her deeply, leaning forward. Surprised, she leant back slightly, lost her balance, and they both slid down into the snow, Remus pinning Tilia to the ground. The scene changed as they broke apart, laughing and brushing snow from each other's hair.

A room Harry had never seen before materialized around him. It was not at Hogwarts castle. The thick, neutral rug and the pale, mossy paint were enough to confirm that without the added evidence of two walls of overstuffed bookshelves. There was a bed in one corner, sloppily made, and a cluttered desk on the wall under the window. A glance outside showed a setting sun gilding not-so-distant trees and the top of what, judging by the hippogriffs in the paddock beside it, was the Lupins' stable. Remus and Tilia had not gone back to school yet, then. But something had changed.

Remus was sitting in his desk chair, watching the sunset over the trees. He was moodily tapping a quill against his desk. Looking around the room again, Harry saw Tilia curled up on the corner of Remus' bed, sitting against the crook of both walls. She seemed lost in thought.

Remus turned his back on the darkening forest abruptly, dropping the quill on top of a copy of the _Daily Prophet_. "I hope Mum and Dad have a good trip."

Tilia nodded. "It was nice of them to let me stay here with you."

Remus shrugged, and wryly said, "I never go to my aunt's. I normally spend a bit of the holidays by myself while they visit."

Tilia sighed. They were quiet for a while and then Tilia broke the silence. "I can't believe that this is our seventh year. It seems like we only just started—" Remus raised his eyebrows, "—well, no, it doesn't, but—You-Know-Who's waiting out there, isn't he? And when we leave school, we'll have to face all that darkness they keep talking about," she said, gesturing to the _Prophet_.

"Don't worry about that now. It's only Christmas. We've got a few months left yet," Remus said consolingly.

"How can you dismiss it?" Tilia asked. "When we're not in school, it's right there." She waved a hand at the forest, and Remus shuddered, making a face.

"I try not to think about it too much. We're only seventeen; we shouldn't _have_ to worry about it. Besides, I thought you came here to get away from it all."

Tilia nodded slowly. "I'm still scared, though."

She looked pale and small, like someone lost who has no clue how to get back home. Concern crossed Remus' face, and he slid off his chair and onto the bed beside her in one fluid motion. She curled up against him, clinging to him as though he were a lifeline that would keep her from drowning.

"I'm afraid, too," he said softly. "But I've picked my side already, and I know you have as well."

She sat bolt upright and stared at him. "Easy for you to say. Am I just supposed to walk out on my family?"

"I know as well as you, Til, that me, Sirius, James, Lily, and Peter are your family," Remus said quietly.

"And I don't want to lose you," she said just as softly.

Remus looked at her questioningly. "This is different from yesterday, right?"

She nodded. "Remus, I think I love you," she whispered.

He blinked in surprise. "I—I think I love you, too," he whispered with only the slightest hesitation for how she would receive his declaration.

They stared at each other for a long time, sapphire eyes lost in amber, and amber eyes lost in sapphire, both unsure of what to do with their mutual admission. Then they were kissing, more insistently, more passionately, but with a slight awkwardness that made Harry turn away, desperate not to see what should be the most private memory between two people.

And he'd always thought that his godfather was joking when he said that Remus and Tilia had moments when they put even Sirius to shame. Perhaps it was because Harry had only known them when they were older and wiser that he thought they had always been responsible and had never taken a risk or a chance. If they were heading where he thought they were, at only seventeen, he had clearly misjudged them.

As he waited for the scene to change, Harry wondered that this was the first mention of Voldemort. Harry had begun school knowing and fearing Voldemort, had always been destined to feel the Dark Lord's presence and fight it. It seemed strange to him that two such influential members of the Order of the Phoenix had only begun to recognize his threat at seventeen. When they had spoken to him, Harry had always gotten the impression that they had fought Voldemort from the beginning. _Maybe_, Harry thought, _it only seemed that way because we were fighting him at the time, and they were forced to remember all that they had feared to lose, and had indeed, lost_.

The scene changed.


	9. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling owns all that you recognize. Tilia, Lianna, and the strange betrothal ceremony are all mine. As for the proposal--it just seemed like a way to arrange a marriage without "arranging" a marriage, which seemed like some sort of concession of the older purebloods to their slightly more modern offspring. And that might just stop a few feuds from starting.

Eight: The Proposal

Harry found himself in another unfamiliar room, this one hung with deep green, velvet curtains, and furnished with an expensive-looking settee and chairs of a dark wood upholstered in green. Tilia sat rigidly in one of the chairs, her face impassive. A woman, who could only be her mother, sat across from her in the other chair. The fire flared between them, highlighting glossy black hair and flushing pale skin.

Two men sat on the settee opposite them, impatiently glancing from the fire to the two sapphire-eyed women to the door.

"He's late," a dark young man said.

"He will be here, Rabastan," Tilia said firmly.

"Forgive me," the other young man, fair as his companion was dark, said, "but your cousin is not known for his reliability. And one would think he could remember to show up for a formal proposal. She could end up engaged to him, after all."

"He will be here, Evan Rosier," Lianna Manoran told him icily. "I am sure there is a reason for his lateness. Ah," she said as a house-elf bowed itself into the room.

"Master Sirius and a Mr. Lupin," it announced squeakily as both Sirius and Remus entered the room. Tilia's gaze turned to both young men, betraying no surprise at the sight of them. Her mother, however, stared with mild shock plain on her face.

"Sirius, what is this?" she demanded coldly, dismissing the house-elf with a curt nod.

"I apologize, Aunt Lianna," Sirius said humbly, and completely out of character. "I could not shake him. He was determined to make a case, so, since I know my cousin has better taste, I thought it best to arrive late than never, and let him have his say."

Lestrange and Rosier laughed at Remus' assumption that he had a chance to win Tilia's hand. Lianna Manoran considered both her nephew and his friend for a long, frosty moment before saying, "If he has something to offer, he may stay."

"Apparently he does, Aunt Lianna," Sirius said just a little too quickly. She did not notice this, and nodded them both towards the settee. Sirius sat; Remus was left standing. Through all this, Tilia and Remus did not once make eye contact. Harry began to suspect that Remus' presence here was a grand Marauder scheme to counter any protest Tilia's mother might make to her daughter's marriage to a werewolf.

Lianna Manoran spoke. "If you would each present your token in turn and recite its symbolism to my daughter…" She gestured to a small, dark table beside Tilia. Rabastan Lestrange stood first before her, and placed a small bag of gold on the table.

"I present to you this bag of gold, but a tiny portion of what wealth you would have at your command as my wife," he recited by rote, before bowing slightly and stepping away as Evan Rosier stood up and placed a silver bracelet on the table.

"I present to you this silver bracelet as a symbol of the high status and circle of connections you would have at your command as my wife," he intoned, also stepping aside as Sirius stood up and placed a small mirror on the table. It reflected Tilia's emotionless face as she watched her cousin speak.

"I present this mirror as a symbol of this society's vanity, that they would allow two cousins to marry, because not only would our children be really messed up, we'd have to deal with everyone else who wanted to sleep with one or the other of us in an attempt to gain an in on the family." Tilia's lip twitched in an effort to hold back a smile, and Harry was sure that she had helped him plan what to say.

"Sirius Black!" Lianna Manoran shrieked. "What a dreadful thing to say."

"But oh, so true," he said with a wink to Tilia. He stepped aside, ignoring his offended aunt, and nudged Remus forward.

Carefully, Remus placed a red rose on the table. "I present to you this rose as a symbol of my heart and all that you already hold, which is all I have to offer."

Both Lestrange and Rosier laughed. "What is your heart worth to a girl like that?" Rosier asked sneeringly.

"I bet he conjured that flower. He's too poor to buy one," Lestrange said maliciously.

"Quiet, and let Tilia think before she chooses which gift to pick to seal her promise to marry—" Lianna Manoran began, but stopped abruptly as Tilia let out a hastily stifled yelp.

"No conjured rose has thorns," she murmured before carefully sucking the welling blood from her pricked forefinger. She was holding the red rose delicately in her other hand.

"I'm sorry," Remus said into the silence. "I thought I'd got them all off."

"An auspicious proposal, no?" she asked with a smile. "It's a beautiful rose."

"But—but—" Lianna Manoran stuttered. "How could you?"

Tilia sighed. "I was highly upset by your letter. I did not prefer any of your choices for my husband. I was sure I would end up as unhappy as you. I thought that I was too young to marry, and considered simply not showing here today.

"But the night I received your letter, we had dinner at Mr. and Mrs. Lupin's, and they told us that the Ministry of Magic is changing the law so that werewolves won't be able to marry or have children. Remus and I really do both want a family, so we decided that it would be best to marry before the law changed. His parents gave us their blessing, and I thought we could simply marry without your consent, as there is no love lost between you and me, I'm sure. But then I thought there was enough dislike between us, Mother, so we decided to play your own game."

Lianna Manoran was livid. Red, angry splotches appeared high on her cheeks, and her eyes danced with blue fire. "Out!" she cried. "Get out! All three of you! And may you never darken my doorstep again!"

"With pleasure," Tilia said, giving her mother a mocking bow and turning to leave, Remus and Sirius following swiftly behind her.

Later, in Remus' room at his parents' house, the two sat curled together on his bed. They were both leaning against the wall, and Tilia's head rested on his shoulder.

"I—have something for you," Remus said softly, looking at her slightly nervously.

She pulled back, brow creased in confusion and curiosity. "Oh?"

He leaned over and picked a small box up off of his nightstand. "I couldn't afford a proper engagement ring, but I thought that you might like this necklace. It—my mother gave it to me, and I want you to have it. I—" He shrugged helplessly as appropriate words to express himself failed him.

He opened the box; a small moon-shaped pendant hung from a fine silver chain. Tilia glanced at Remus.

"It's beautiful. I—are you sure you want me to have it? I—"

He nodded. "See, Mum didn't want to wear it after I was bitten because, well, I mean, even though it's a crescent, it's still a moon. She said that she hoped that one day I would meet someone who would understand. She said maybe that person would be strong enough to wear what she couldn't bring herself to, that maybe for them it wouldn't be a symbol of guilt or fear.

"I thought that maybe you—since you, well." He stopped.

Tilia smiled. "I'm not afraid of you, no," she said quietly. "And I am apparently foolish enough to love a werewolf."

He grinned at her. "Would you like it, then?"

"It's perfect," she said with a smile, and Remus gently clasped it about her neck so that the pendant hung perfectly in the hollow of her throat. He smiled at her as she brought a hand up to touch it.

He kissed her softly as the scene swirled away, and Harry couldn't help but think that Tilia had been willing to wear the necklace, and was, in fact, still wearing it, because it showed better than anything that she had chosen to chain herself to the moon as tightly as Remus himself was chained.


	10. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: What you recognize belongs to J. K. Rowling. Tilia and the answer to "why Remus seems to have no family" in the books are mine. Warnings for major angst and a fatal Death Eater attack, though hopefully the latter is not too overdone.

Nine: Scars

The basement, for it could only be a basement, was dark, unfurnished, and cold. Remus was sitting against one damp wall, facing a window high above him on the opposite wall. He had his eyes closed, but tension was written in every line of his body, as though he was waiting for a predestined lightning bolt to strike. And in a way, he was.

A silver patch of light appeared, and grew longer as the moon rose higher, reaching with inexorable fingers towards the werewolf waiting for it. Remus stood, shaking, and Harry realized he shook from fear and tension in anticipation of what was coming; the transformation had not yet begun. Harry suddenly wondered if the memory would somehow be altered or influenced by the transformation; a transformed werewolf could not generally remember much without Wolfsbane. He was uneasy, unsure he wanted to see inside a werewolf's head, but certain that he had no choice.

Remus fought the transformation, struggling to stay human, to remember—to remember—

Harry couldn't see. Colors were swarming before his eyes: red rage, white pain, and black fear. He began to feel slightly nauseous as they spun faster and faster; he couldn't believe that Remus dealt with this every month on top of the physical pain he must be in, considering his cries. And then the werewolf's howl rent the air at the same time a door banged open behind Harry. His vision cleared, but the quality of the memory around him was grey and fuzzy, like a badly developed photograph.

Harry turned to follow as the werewolf flew past, catching a glimpse of frenzied eyes. Four masked and hooded men stood shocked at the top of the stairs as the werewolf flung himself out of their reach, heading for the broken, open door and the night beyond. Harry was compelled to follow; behind him, he heard the Death Eaters shouts, and a woman's screams. The werewolf ran on, heedless, enough of him still human to know that he _could not_ spill human blood, and yet enough of him a wolf to be searching for prey.

There were foals in the stables, helpless little things. The wolf could smell them, and Remus was powerless to fight it. The werewolf plunged on, and Harry was drawn along in the wake of the blurry remnants of the memory.

A man stood in the stable door, indistinguishable beyond that. The wolf hesitated, dancing on the spot for a moment. The wolf's need for blood warred with Remus' fear of it. The wolf won, gliding forward, and heaven help the hired hand who barred the way.

As the werewolf darted forward, the stable hand struck at the lithe, grey form with the first weapon that came to hand. It was a horsewhip, used mainly as a noisemaker to startle the animals only, never to actually hit them; the resounding crack was normally enough. The man had never actually made contact with anything other than air, and the sensation of rawhide meeting wolf's flesh disgusted him. Four times, the man was forced to strike at the werewolf before he turned and fled, bleeding from four long cuts down his back.

Harry followed the spectral shape of the wolf as he ghosted among the trees, either unwilling or incapable of leaving the farm that had been his home. Something in the wolf's eyes had changed; somehow Remus had gained a stronger hold.

Two sapphire pinpricks appeared suddenly beside the werewolf, and Harry recognized with a jolt that the blue points of light were eyes, Tilia's eyes. Moony sat, and the shape of a black fox was discernible against the grey flank of the wolf. It was Russet's presence that had called and calmed the werewolf.

Moony stood again, eyes blazing as the four Death Eaters left the Lupins' house and Disapparated without setting the Dark Mark above it. Russet whined as Moony stalked towards the house, the scents of blood and death in his nostrils. She followed behind him, crowding him a little in discomfort. He flicked his tail at her in annoyance, and she fell back, whining insistently. It was obvious that she did not want to go any further. The werewolf walked on regardless.

The smell of blood overpowered both quasi-canines as they entered the sitting room through the ruined front door. They looked around as they paused; Russet sat abruptly, trembling and whimpering. Moony stepped silently forward, threw his head back, and howled. It was heart-wrenchingly, achingly mournful, and Harry felt tremendously sorry for Remus on top of his nausea.

For one glance at the room illustrated quite clearly why the Death Eaters had not set off the Dark Mark. They had made sure the blame for the murders would fall on Remus. It was quite sickening.

There was a soft rustle as Tilia threw caution to the winds and resumed her human form. "Remus," she sobbed. "Oh, Remus." The werewolf looked at her with human eyes, and Harry knew that it was her presence alone that had somehow overridden the werewolf's bloodlust and kept Remus grounded in his humanity.

Tilia spent the rest of the night repairing what damage she could so that, when the sun rose, it shone on a scene that was unmistakably the result of the work of Death Eaters.

The scene convulsed with the influx of sunlight, and Harry's vision swam again with black and white. It was almost worse to see now in proper focus and color. Remus was curled up on the floor, resolutely looking away from the Death Eaters' work, tears pouring down his face.

Tilia approached him slowly and knelt gently beside him. Fresh tears began to course down the tracks left by her tears at midnight.

"You shouldn't've been here," Remus said. His voice was hoarse.

"Dumbledore received information that your parents were going to be attacked. He sent me to warn you all, but he was too late. I was too late," Tilia said, her voice pained. "Remus, I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault," he said harshly. "It's mine."

"No, Remus, it's not," Tilia said, alarmed at his willingness to blame this on himself.

"It is," he spat. "They wanted me because I'm a werewolf. They've been owling me for months. I never wrote back, never told anyone. They threatened me, but I didn't think to tell Dumbledore. I was afraid he wouldn't believe that I had not elicited their recruitment, and now I've proved I'm no better than—don't touch me!"

He pulled away from Tilia, who had moved to look at the cuts on his back. They were bleeding again, aggravated by the transformation. She stared at him uncertainly, fear coursing through her. She clenched her hands to stop their trembling.

"Remus, you're bleeding," she said quietly.

"I don't care," he replied flatly.

"Yes, you do. You wouldn't blame yourself if you didn't care," she continued in that quiet, controlled tone that belied the worry and fear in her eyes. Remus looked away, unable to deny the truth of her words.

"Please, let me look at your back," she pleaded.

"You've already seen it," he said pointedly.

"Remus," she said exasperatedly.

"Fine," he snapped wearily. "Clean it, bandage it, but do no more."

"But, why?" she asked, appalled. "If that's all I do, you'll have those scars forever."

He glared at her in a manner that brooked no argument, and Tilia nodded with a sigh, and did as Remus asked. When she'd secured the last bandage, she carefully wrapped her arms around him, and he sighed, allowing himself to succumb, for once, to his emotions. He sank into her embrace and clung to her.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "It's just—" He couldn't find the words to say thank you, nor could he find, at the time, the words to articulate his guilt and sorrow. Tilia understood, and gently placed a finger to his lips to let him know that he needn't speak.

Remus still bore those scars, Harry knew, and now he knew where they came from. Those scars were an outward sign of all the emotion that Remus had been unable to express in words or actions. They were his self-imposed penance for a crime he did not commit, for a condition he neither chose, nor could refuse or control.

And, thankfully, the scene dissolved.

* * *

A/N: I know I never ask for reviews, but I'd like to know if the perspective in this chapter worked because at the time I was writing it, it was a bit of a departure for me. Concrit is welcome. Thanks.


	11. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to J. K. Rowling. Tilia is mine.

Ten: The Wedding

"Oh, blast it, Tilia. Would you sit still for one minute so I can finish your hair?" Lily exclaimed in frustration.

"There's nothing you _can_ do to my hair," Tilia said. "It's too short."

"It isn't," Lily retorted.

"Don't even think about curling it," Tilia warned.

"Why not? Mine is," Lily said, gesturing to her own perfectly curled hair. Tilia made a face at her via the mirror.

"And it looks lovely on you, dear. I would look like—" Lily performed the charm, and Tilia's mouth hung open in horrified disgust. Lily undid the charm hastily, and Tilia finished the sentence, "—like a five-year-old's favorite doll."

Both young women began to laugh as Lily artfully flipped Tilia's hair into a side part and let it fall naturally. Then she settled a plain, silvery tiara on her friend's head; it made a striking contrast to her black hair.

Tilia stood up, smiling at Lily, and Harry saw her dress properly. It was simple, white, and elegant. Lily's bridesmaid dress was just as simple, in a flattering shade of green.

"I think you're ready," Lily said quietly.

Tilia nodded, her eyes sparkling. "I'd better be," she replied. "This is our only chance."

Remus was pacing, waiting for the signal that the girls were ready and this could all begin officially. It was a small wedding, organized and attended by the members of the Order of the Phoenix that they were slowly growing close to. It was easy, he had found, to make friendships when you were risking your lives together; it was a choice of trust or not trust, and if you didn't trust, you weren't trusted. Unless you were Mad-Eye, of course. No one doubted his loyalty.

"Calm down, Moony," Sirius said as he redid his tie for the fourth time. "It'll be fine."

Remus grimaced. "I keep expecting the Ministry to burst in at any moment," he said. "And if not the Ministry, the Death—"

"They haven't passed the law yet; there's nothing they can legally do to stop you," Sirius interrupted. "And don't worry about the Death Eaters. They did enough damage two months ago."

Remus gave Sirius a pained look.

"Come on, Remus," Sirius said. "You frightened them. They thought they had it all under control and they failed. They won't try it again."

"Maybe if they hadn't failed, my parents wouldn't be dead," Remus spat.

"Look, Remus, I know you feel guilty about it, but haven't enough people told you not to?" The werewolf didn't reply, so Sirius shook his head and loosened his tie. He glanced at his watch, sighed, and began to retie it. "Cheer up, at least for today. It's your wedding, for goodness' sake!"

Remus gave Sirius a tight-lipped, nervous smile, and noticed that he was redoing his tie for the sixth time.

"Would you stop doing that?" he asked. "You're making me nervous."

"_I'm_ making you nervous?" Sirius asked with raised eyebrows, but he left his tie alone.

"Okay, more nervous than I already am," Remus amended.

"Sirius?" Lily's voice startled them both. "Sirius, pick up the mirror."

"Oh, right," Sirius said, smacking himself on the forehead with one hand and pulling out his two-way mirror with the other. "What's up?" he asked Lily's image.

"What's up?" Lily repeated incredulously. "Honestly, now I feel justified in questioning your sanity. These mirrors are ingenious, though."

"I know," Sirius said smugly. "Is this it, then?"

"Yep," Lily nodded. " We're ready. And fix your tie."

"My—" Sirius glanced down at his half-done tie. "Oh, right. Thanks Lily, you're a lifesaver."

"Ha, ha," she replied. "See you out there." Her image disappeared from the mirror.

Sirius pocketed it and fixed his tie in record time. "C'mon, Moony. Let's go."

Remus took a deep breath, steeling himself. "All right. Let's go."

In a swirl of color, Harry found himself seated in the front row next to James. He glanced up to find that Lily was the only bridesmaid, and Sirius was best man. He looked behind him, and saw that he actually knew, or knew of, most of the small group of people behind him. His attention was brought back to the front with the words, "You may now kiss the bride."

Remus and Tilia stared at each other for a moment before he leaned forward and kissed her, to much applause from the seated Order. They parted, beaming, and stepped down to the polished floor to begin the dancing.

In another swirl of color, Harry had the impression of dancing and merriment late into the night. He caught glimpses of faces of people whose lives in the next few years would be destroyed. But for that night, no Death Eaters or Ministry officials ruined what was, for Remus and Tilia, a dream come true.


	12. Chapter 11

A/N: I apologize for the wait. This chapter needed some revision and it took me a while to sit down and work it out. Thank you for your patience.

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to J. K. Rowling. Tilia and Charles Merton are mine.

Eleven: Charles Merton

Harry looked around the small kitchen. It was a warm room, though only sparsely accessorized. The people sitting at the scrubbed wooden table, however, looked positively icy.

Tilia was sitting on one of the chairs, glaring across the table at a man, her eyes glittering dangerously. As she crossed her arms, Harry's attention was drawn to the fact that she was pregnant. He was surprised; to his knowledge, the Lupins had never had a child.

Harry looked away to Remus, who was standing behind Tilia, his hands a gentle restraint on her shoulders. He, too, was watching the man sitting on the other side of his kitchen table.

The man seated across from them was grey-haired, wearing official-looking robes. He had placed a scroll of notes on the table. He worked for the Minister of Magic, generally running errands and doing a lot of the Minister's dirty work. It was not a job he fancied, but the pay was sufficient, and he was loathe to lose that security. His name, written neatly across the top of the scroll, was Charles Merton. He glanced across the table with nervous, faded blue eyes.

"Miss Manoran," Merton began, flinching under her intensified glare. He sighed. "Mrs. Lupin," he amended, and some of the ice left Tilia's eyes, despite the reluctance with which he addressed her as such.

"I wish to speak to you without—" he paused on the brink of insulting Remus, and rephrased his question. "May I speak with you in private?"

"If it will make you more comfortable," she replied. "It's not like I keep secrets from Remus. He'll find out what you say anyway."

Merton sighed again. "It's not a question of my comfort, but of yours."

She laughed lightly. "If you intend to offend us, I'd rather not hear it."

"I'm not giving you a choice, because the Minister has given me no choice," he said.

"Is the Minister here?" Tilia asked, looking around as if she expected the Minister of Magic to appear in her humble kitchen.

"I had hoped this wouldn't be difficult," Merton said, kneading his forehead with his fingers. He hated being made to look a fool, but he should have known it was coming. The House of Black always made a mockery of him. He had been stupid to think that Tilia Manoran would be different.

"Then, please, do say what you've come to say. The sooner you do, the sooner you can leave," Tilia told him, innocence in her tone, if not her words.

"You want me to speak plainly, in front of him?" Merton asked, gesturing vaguely towards Remus.

Both Lupins nodded, their expressions daring him to protest. He avoided their eyes, choosing, instead, to look at the crescent-moon-shaped pendant that hung round Tilia's neck in a semblance of looking at her.

"The Ministry, under observance of certain laws, acknowledges that it has no legal power to arrest you, or to force you to separate," Merton began, reading from the scroll of parchment.

Tilia and Remus nodded again, relieved that the Ministry would not force compliance. They had been married for six months, and the law against marriage for werewolves had only just gone into effect. They had hoped that the Ministry would do nothing; it was nice to be certain that they could not.

"However," Merton said, shifting uncomfortably under Tilia's sapphire scrutiny, "the Ministry asks you to reconsider."

Tilia shook her head, disdain on her face. "I will not."

The Ministry official put a hand to his forehead, closing his eyes momentarily in exasperation. "Your mother is threatening to disown you."

Tilia shrugged indifferently. "I do not want, nor need, her support."

"But what will you do for money? How will you support a child if you aren't working?" Merton exclaimed, trying desperately to make her see sense before he had to resort to less savory means of convincing her.

"As soon as I get off of maternity leave I will be working full time," Tilia told him.

He shook his head. "You're throwing away the good will of the society you were born into," he said, wincing at how old-fashioned and snobbish that sounded. Why didn't the Minister deal with this problem? The Minister had given him the scroll of arguments, none of which Merton thought would work. That meant he would have to use the _Minister's_ first choice of action, and, as much as Merton disliked Manoran's lack of propriety, he could not agree with the way the _precious Minister_ wanted to deal with her.

Tilia snorted indelicately. "I've lost the goodwill of a society I abhor. I'm devastated," she finished sarcastically.

She had an answer for everything, Merton decided, glancing at the rest of the arguments he had listed on the scroll. They were all shallow, and he knew she would continue to mock him with her indifference.

He bit his lip in indecision, before heaving another heavy sigh and putting the scroll back in his pocket. He winced as the sack of galleons jingled, more a toll of doom than the merry ring the sound a full pocket of money generally gave. Tilia frowned at the sound, and her eyes flicked away, as though seeking Remus', but he was behind her and could not see. Merton, however, realized he had made her nervous. His insides squirmed with guilt, praying that the Minister was wrong, and that the young woman wouldn't take it. Merton did not want to do this.

"Miss Manoran, I had hoped to avoid the Minister's last resort," he said, ignoring her renewed glare. "But you give me no choice."

She started to turn to look at Remus, but he moved closer to her, squeezing her shoulder reassuringly, so she turned back to Merton. It looked as though she had merely begun to shake her head. Merton ignored this.

"The Minister wants to offer you 100 galleons to divorce _him_." He gestured to Remus, avoiding both Lupins' eyes.

Tilia stared in disbelief at Merton.

"How dare you?" she spat. Her eyes flashed angrily, and Merton cowered away from the young woman.

"I'm just doing my job," he protested feebly.

"Oh, get out," she said. "You wouldn't be here if you didn't agree with at least the principle of the law. So, please, go. Just go. You will not change my mind, nor sway my position."

Charles Merton stood up, straightening his robes and drawing himself to his full, unimpressive height in an attempt at dignity. "I will not trouble you further. I hope you find happiness, and should you change your mind, I'm sure you will be welcomed back."

"Back where? Have I gone away, or am I not still a witch and a human?" Tilia asked him.

"I—" Merton faltered.

Tilia gave him a cold smile, and got up to show him out.

The scene changed, and Harry found himself in the middle of a whirlwind of chaos. Remus, Tilia, James, and Sirius were fighting a slew of Death Eaters not far from St. Mungo's. There was shouting, cursing; two Death Eaters went down. There were more flashes of light as Aurors joined the fray. Another Death Eater fell, and then Tilia cried out and the scene became cloudy…

Tilia lay, unconscious, on a bed in the wizarding hospital, and Harry knew that something was very wrong. Remus was sitting beside her, his expression grave, and pain lingered in his eyes, but Harry was certain that he had not been physically hurt.

Sirius stood, leaning against the wall opposite the bed, reading a copy of the _Evening Prophet_. There was contempt on his face.

"Would you look at this," he said to Remus. "We made the front page."

Remus did not respond.

"Not that Death Eater attacks don't always make the front page, but still," Sirius continued as though his friend had acknowledged his speech. "Huh," he paused, frowning. "That's odd. They say that Tilia was injured _before_ the Aurors arrived. They say that one of the apprehended Death Eaters hit her with a curse that caused her to lose the—But wouldn't the Death Eaters have wanted to kill the mother, too, not just the—?"

Remus turned sad eyes to Sirius, who swallowed and stopped speaking. Slowly, he whispered, "She was hit after the Aurors arrived. And, well, she is family. Whether that matters to the Death Eaters or not, I don't—"

Sirius shook his head. "So the paper didn't want to admit that the Aurors couldn't protect everyone, that they weren't infallible. They just wanted to make themselves look better."

Remus nodded, and both young men turned to look at Tilia for a long moment. She stirred, blinking rapidly, taking in the situation around her. She must have sensed something gravely wrong, because her eyes went wide with fear.

"Remus," she said softly, "what happened?"

He turned away, eyes closed against tears, and unable to speak around the lump in his throat. It was Sirius who answered.

Harry turned away, unable to bear the look of anguish on Tilia Lupin's face.

The scene dissolved again.


	13. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to J. K. Rowling. Tilia is mine.

Twelve: Harry Potter

Harry found himself once again in the Lupins' kitchen. It was cozier this time, and looked more lived in. Harry assumed that some time had passed since the last memory he had seen.

Tilia was sitting at the table, looking slightly melancholy, a mug of tea cradled in her hands. She was apparently fascinated by the grain of the table. Lily sat across from her, looking nervous. She was fiddling with the edge of the placemat in front of her, and was in imminent danger of spilling her own mug.

"How are you?" Lily asked, but Harry didn't think the redhead was simply there to inquire after Tilia's health.

Tilia shrugged, then gave Lily a small, reassuring smile. "I just had a bad day. The potion didn't quite turn out."

"Didn't quite turn out," Lily repeated. "How bad was it?"

"It turned puke-colored and exploded, and Lydia stepped in it," Tilia said. Suddenly, she grinned. "Burned a hole in her expensive high heels."

Lily winced. "Just because Lydia insults you all the time…"

"Doesn't mean that I should take petty and vindictive pleasure in accidentally causing her to shriek like a banshee, I know," Tilia said with a sigh.

"But how does that make it a bad day?" Lily asked, wondering how it could be bad. The other woman insulted Tilia every chance she got. Unintentionally reciprocating Lydia's malice should have been a good thing. "Do you have a deadline, or something?"

"No, this is personal. I just thought—but I shouldn't get my hopes up. It's supposed to be impossible." She shrugged again. "So, what's up?" she asked Lily, trying to be cheerful.

Lily gave Tilia a nervous smile. "Well," she began, "James and I—we—well, I—"

Tilia raised her eyebrows.

"We're going to—to have a baby."

Tilia looked down, knowing she should have been ready for this, fighting her mixed emotions until she could give her friend a genuine smile, because she really did mean it when she said, "That's wonderful, Lily."

"Isn't it?" Lily sighed, her expression only a little dreamy. Tilia could forgive her for it. She'd once felt that way herself. Lily looked suddenly more serious. "You will be godmother, right?"

Tilia shook her head sadly. "The Ministry made it quite clear—they would never allow—"

"But surely _you_ could?" Lily exclaimed. "It's not like we're asking Remus directly—"

"The key word there is 'directly.' Whether I am named the godparent or not, you still want to place your child in the care of a werewolf. And the Ministry will never let that happen," Tilia said. "No, don't argue," she cut off her friend's protests, smiling slightly at Lily's indignation on their behalf. "We will promise you to look out for your child, however, and make sure Sirius doesn't botch anything up too badly."

Lily tilted her head in confusion. "How did you know that Sirius was going to be godfather?"

Tilia rolled her eyes. "Please, Lily. Who else would James choose? Sirius was—his best man after all."

_Sirius was going to be godfather for _my_ child, as you were to be godmother._ Tilia had stopped herself from saying it, but the words hung unspoken between the two young women. Lily bit her lip nervously again; Tilia noticed, and smiled. It almost reached her eyes.

"You'll be fine, Lily. I won't let anything happen to you."

Lily's sad smile said that she desperately wanted to believe Tilia, but with the threat of war, they both knew that promises, however sincere, were empty.

The scene swirled away and was replaced with a waiting room at St. Mungo's. All four Marauders were there, as was Tilia, and they were exhibiting various states of nervousness. James was pacing, running a hand through his hair, and apparently unable to sit still. Sirius was following James in a vain attempt to calm him down. Peter was sitting, scuffing his feet on the tile floor, and fidgeting. Remus and Tilia sat, their gazes far away, seemingly unaffected by James' nerves.

Harry glanced around at the dark window, through which he could glimpse, high overhead, the waning moon. He was suddenly very sure that they were waiting for his own birth, and it felt slightly surreal, despite the fact that he knew he wasn't really there.

A healer called James into the room. Sirius gave him a grin and a little push to the door before taking a seat to wait. Tilia and Remus sat up straighter, their eyes focusing on the present, and gave James reassuring smiles as well. Peter, conversely, shrank back into his chair, and offered only a weak smile of his own. James didn't smile back. He took a deep breath and entered the room, shaking as though an executioner awaited him instead of Lily.

Soon after, he reappeared, holding a blanket-wrapped baby.

"Should you be out here already?" Tilia asked, even as they all crowded around James.

"The healer said this was more practical, since there are so many of you. He only wants two of you guys to come see Lily at a time, but we thought it wouldn't be fair if the other two had to wait to see _him_." James nodded to the baby in his arms, grinning like a lunatic. "Isn't he wonderful?"

The teasing he expected never came. His four friends were silent, watching the quiet baby in his arms. Sirius, predictably, broke the silence.

"So, what's his name?"

James blinked sheepishly. "Harry. Harry James." He blushed as his friends sniggered. "It was Lily's idea," he said defensively.

"'Course it was," Sirius said, grinning. And then the healer asked James to bring the poor baby back to his mother. By unspoken agreement, Sirius and Peter went to see Lily first.

Once alone, Tilia sat heavily, the smile sliding from her face. Remus sat beside her, putting an arm around her shoulders and hugging her as close as the chair arms would permit. "Are you all right?"

"Of course," Tilia said. "I just—" she paused. "We have to protect them, Remus. We can't let anything happen to them. They're so happy, and he's so innocent. Just look at this world. It's a mess. He shouldn't have to grow up to all of this."

Remus nodded. "I know, Til. We'll try."

"I promised Lily everything would be okay. That even if we couldn't really be godparents, that we would look out for him."

"And we will try, Til. We will."

As they stood to change places with Sirius and Peter, the scene began to change as well. Harry suddenly understood why the Lupins felt they had failed him. He also knew that he could not blame them. They had wanted to protect the Potters, spare their friends the pain they had felt. Harry couldn't help but think that it was so like Remus and Tilia to blame themselves for something they had no control over.

He was grateful, though, for everything they had done for him, and the effort they had gone to to make amends. He had wondered why they had gone to so much effort for their best friends' son. But remembering the looks on their faces when they saw the baby that was Harry Potter, Harry realized that they had loved the baby merely because he was a Potter. What had changed, the reason they had done everything they could to help him, was that they loved the boy, now a young man, because he was Harry.

A/N: There is some very subtle foreshadowing in this chapter about Tilia's work. And I post this chapter with a toast--to more frequent updates!


	14. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to J. K. Rowling. Tilia and Merton are mine.

Thirteen: November 1, 1981

The calendar on the desk glared at the werewolf who sat in the interrogation chair across from it: November 1, 1981. It was a date Remus Lupin would never forget. He had spent most of the day in this chair, threatened with silver, forced to take far too much Veritaserum, and answering truthfully that he and Sirius had had a falling out and that he had had no idea that Sirius had been James and Lily's secret keeper. They had not believed him. The Ministry would never take the word of a werewolf.

It was a good thing, Remus dryly thought later, that he was so numb and shocked that he wasn't hungry, because he had not eaten since the night before; he had been rudely awakened by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement that morning. He had followed, bewildered and not a little frightened, and as they interrogated him it all became clear, and he had grown increasingly numb, once the shock had ebbed.

They had not left him alone to grieve for his friends. They had kept a constant string of questioners in the room with him, as though a different hostile face would elicit the responses they wanted. The most recent of these questioners was Charles Merton.

Merton's questions lacked conviction, as if he thought it stupid to ask Remus the same questions for what felt like the hundredth time. While Merton was hesitating, Remus managed to blurt out a question of his own; why hadn't they brought in Tilia to corroborate what he said, or did he just not know that they already had?

Merton had frowned in confusion, picked up his half-hearted notes, and gone to ask.

Harry did not know any of this. All he saw as the scene materialized around him was Remus, sitting perfectly still, and the plain desk, clear of everything except the staring calendar proclaiming to any who went past that it was November 1, 1981. It was a date that Harry had been glad to know little about. His stomach clenched nervously, despite the fact that he knew nothing horrible happened to the Lupins. Well, he amended, nothing more horrible than losing all their best friends within twenty-four hours.

There were voices in the corridor, behind the door Merton had left ajar. Remus did not dare turn around to look in that direction, but he closed his eyes, listening.

"—bring Manoran in," Merton was saying.

"Why? She can't have had anything to do with it," an unfamiliar voice said.

"B-but—" Merton stammered, "she's _his_ wife and Black's cousin. Don't you think…?" His voice trailed away. Remus could hear the glare in the other voice when she replied.

"No, I don't think that would help. All we would have to go on is that she's Black's cousin. The public wouldn't approve of the lack of evidence. Don't forget, she was a friend of the Potters, and of Pettigrew."

"B-but," Merton began again, "all the evidence you have on him is that he's Black's _friend_. He was a friend of the Potters and Pettigrew, too."

The other voice snorted. "And you think the public won't approve? God, Merton, I let you keep your job when I took office because I thought you were smarter than that. He's a werewolf. The public will be glad to see him dead. They'll know we're taking steps to bring down what's left of the Death Eaters."

Remus opened his eyes as his blood ran cold. Werewolves didn't go to Azkaban. The Ministry didn't want to be responsible for mauled prisoners. It was cheaper, easier, and generally more acceptable to simply kill a werewolf off. _I'm a scapegoat,_ Remus thought, _the werewolf who pushed Sirius, a pureblood, to do the evil he had done._ So he would pay for Sirius' crimes more dearly than Sirius would, and Tilia would pay as well, though the Ministry, no doubt, believed they were saving her.

"I think we've done enough for today. I know it's late, but I want to talk about this. Put him in a holding cell for tonight." Remus' attention snapped back to the conversation beyond the door.

"Very well, Minister," Merton said. Remus sagged, the tension leaving him. If the Minister of Magic was going to frame him, there was nothing anyone could do. Tilia and Dumbledore hadn't forgotten him; there was just no way for them to help him. He stood when Merton prodded him to, and went quietly to the cell. It was no use fighting. It wouldn't make a difference.

Remus woke to shouting outside the holding cell. Slowly, he recognized Tilia's voice, and his heart leapt that she had come. When he understood her words, however, he went still in shock. She couldn't be saying that, could she?

Harry found himself standing outside the cell, behind Tilia. He edged around the shouting woman, and immediately wished he hadn't. It was obvious why Merton, a guard, and even the Minister were shrinking away from her.

Tilia's eyes were blazing, and she was shaking. Her face bore a madness that Harry found all too familiar: it was the look Bellatrix Lestrange wore in his nightmares. Never had Tilia looked more like a member of the House of Black. Though she was shouting, her words were coherent and understandable. Harry was certain that this was due to the Black family 'gift' and not to any great amount of control on Tilia's part. She looked too far-gone to have any conscious control.

Harry shifted his focus back to what she was saying as her volume dropped dramatically. She seemed to have realized she was frightening people. The mad look in her eyes did not fade with her volume, though, and it was now accompanied with anguish. To say that Tilia Lupin had reacted badly to the loss of her friends would have been a gross understatement.

"You can't do this, Minister," she said. "You can't."

"I think it is within my right to remove a dangerous—"

"He's not dangerous," Tilia interrupted, eyes too bright, her pale cheeks flushing. "He's never hurt anyone."

"He's a werewolf, Miss Manoran," the Minister said.

"He's also my husband, and a good man," Tilia said.

"A werewolf is not human, and is inherently opposite to all that is good, and all that we have fought for. When I entered office, I swore to fight the darkness in this world with everything I had. I continued my predecessor's reforms—"

"And made life hell for those who were most likely to join Voldemort," Tilia interrupted again. "No one is inherently evil, Minister. No one is born that way."

Both the Minister and Merton had shuddered at Tilia's use of the Dark Lord's name, and disregarded her argument in favor of asking, "How can you dare to say that name?"

"Because Voldemort has taken my life from me. I have nothing left to lose," she said, unshed tears glazing her intense eyes. "My best friends, those I consider family, are—are gone. The child I loved as a son is in the care of those who will only despise him. My cousin is their betrayer and murderer. You, almost worse, are going to kill my husband, all I have left, for a crime he did not commit, nor have knowledge of. You are no better than Voldemort; you're just as bigoted. Tell me, what should I fear? The name of a fallen dark wizard? Or a government that is no better than the enemy they seek to fight?"

Tilia's words were tumbling over each other in anger. She was flushed and shaking worse than ever.

Merton took a step back. "Y-you're mad," he stammered. "Sh-she's lost it. Don't l-listen to her, Minister."

The Minister was of a stronger will than Merton. She had taken the job a year ago at the peak of Voldemort's power, knowing that her life would be in danger. One woman, maddened by grief, would not sway her.

"I'm no better than You-Know-Who, is that right?" She was looking straight into Tilia's feverish sapphire eyes. Neither looked away.

"I could send you to Azkaban right now for that. I could say you were in league with Black. You and the werewolf," the Minister threatened softly.

"Go ahead. Then we'd both be dead and in a better place. Wouldn't that be something?" Tilia said, her eyes boring into the Minister's.

"You and your werewolf are going to whatever form of eternal damnation you believe in," the Minister replied.

Tilia laughed, a soft, mad laugh. "I don't believe in eternal damnation. I believe in a world beyond where everything is as it was meant to be."

"Miss Manoran." Tilia's glare darkened and the Minister sighed. "Are you trying to throw your life away?"

"I no longer have a life. You are bound and determined to take away the only person who could make me keep living," Tilia's voice was quiet, matter-of-fact, and that scared the Minister more than her anger. This was more than grief, it was despair, and that was just as unpredictable and dangerous as uncontrolled rage.

"Merton," the Minister said suddenly, finally looking away from Tilia. "Please release Mr. Lupin."

"M-Minister?" Merton asked uncertainly.

"All evidence shows that he is innocent. If anyone complains, say we feared for Miss Manoran's safety, and for the safety of those who might come in contact with her," the Minister said firmly.

"Yes, Minister," Merton said softly, fumbling to unlock the holding cell.

Tilia sighed, deflating. She wilted before their eyes, losing color and vivacity. She looked to the Minister with dulled sapphire eyes. "Thank you," she whispered. The Minister shied away from the dramatic change in the woman before her. They waited for Merton to finally get the door unlocked.

As soon as Remus was close enough, he pulled Tilia to him in a tight hug. "What was that about?" he said hoarsely. "Risking your life for me—"

She cut him off merely by looking at him. He froze at the look in her eyes. "When I got home, and you were gone—I went to Dumbledore, but he said not to worry, that they would have to let you go because they had no evidence. When you didn't come home last night—I had to come. What good would it do to be the last one? We all failed. Why live with the regret that I hadn't done anything?"

Remus closed his eyes and pulled her closer. "I understand."

Those were the most heart-breaking two words Harry had ever heard, and as he watched two very broken people leave the Ministry, clinging to each other because there was nothing else for them to hold onto, his respect for them increased. They had learned to live again in a world that had given them up for dead. They were stronger than he had ever imagined they were, and he loved them all the more for their sacrifice.


	15. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to J. K. Rowling. Tilia and Daughton are mine.

A/N: I know it seems improbable that there would be a memory of Daughton's in Tilia and Remus' Pensieve, but the chapter worked so much better from his point of view that I had to write it that way. It's a little respite in between the two wars, and gives a different view of Remus and Tilia--maybe not the rest of the world's view, but a distinctly outside view nonetheless. So, enjoy this glimpse of where the Lupins were when they fell off the face of the earth in between Halloween 1981 and September of 1993 when Remus returns to Hogwarts.

Fourteen: Edmund Daughton

Edmund Daughton stood outside the door of the small house, gathering the nerve to knock. It wasn't that he didn't like Tilia Lupin, quite the opposite, in fact. She was the best researcher he had. No, the reason the head of the most prestigious lab for potions research was nervous was because the Ministry wanted him to fire his best researcher, and Tilia Lupin had a horrible temper. There were rumors, five years old and mostly forgotten, that she had managed to intimidate the Minister into releasing her husband after her cousin's betrayal. The Ministry, of course, chalked it up to temporary madness due to grief. Daughton wasn't so sure.

He pushed his mop of dirty-blonde hair out of his eyes, took a deep breath, raised his hand, and knocked. It was a moment before the door opened, and it certainly wasn't Tilia who stood before him.

The young man was unfamiliar, but then, Daughton hadn't heard or seen much about Tilia's husband lately, not since the fiasco at the Ministry that set rumors flying…Though Daughton knew he could be no more than twenty-five or so, a long scar ran from the man's right temple to his chin, his face was lightly lined, and there were silver threads of grey in his brown hair. The amber eyes were older than the man's years, wary, but with a hint of sadness in their depths that had obviously been suppressed. It seemed as though the slightly taller man was sizing Daughton up.

Daughton suddenly wondered what the young man saw in him. Was he just a thickset, older man, well on towards fifty, with too-long hair and wide-set grey eyes? Or could this man read deeper? Tilia's husband was a werewolf, and while Daughton did not know enough to know if this was her husband, he knew enough about werewolves to know that the creatures could read more than what was on the surface. If this man was the werewolf, could he see Daughton's discomfort? Would he attribute it to his presence, or would he know it was something else?

"May I help you?" The young man's voice breaking into Daughton's pointless self-interrogation was light, and slightly hoarse, and his tone was suspicious.

"I'm Edmund Daughton. I would like to speak to Tilia, please."

The other man started slightly in recognition, but did not relax. If anything, he looked at the man on his doorstep with even more suspicion. "I'm sorry," he said. "My wife isn't home, and won't be for about an hour."

Daughton blinked. So this _was_ Remus Lupin, the werewolf Tilia Manoran had so rashly married. Daughton thought, perhaps, that he should say something, make his excuses, and leave, but he was curious. He wanted to know why someone like Tilia would risk her life, not to mention throw away relative wealth and social standing, to be with this werewolf.

"Thank you," Daughton told him, for lack of anything better to say. He hesitated, his curiosity getting the better of him. He said nothing more, nor did he move.

Lupin stood for a moment, one hand on the door, ready to close it. When Daughton didn't leave, the werewolf frowned slightly and asked, "Are you sure I can't take a message?"

Daughton continued to hesitate. He wasn't certain how to phrase this. It wasn't _convenient_, exactly, for him to stay, but he was curious…

"If it wouldn't be any trouble, do you think I could wait, please? I dislike guesswork when it comes to people, I see so much of it in my line of work." He stopped, realizing he was rambling, attempting to justify his desire to learn about Remus Lupin to the werewolf himself, who probably couldn't care less what Daughton's motivation was. Not that Daughton knew what his motivation was himself.

The werewolf blinked. "No trouble at all," he murmured, stepping back to allow Daughton to enter. He stepped in, and tried not to shiver as the door clicked quietly shut behind him. That was only a bad sign in Muggle horror films, not in real life. Not that he was particularly familiar with horror, in reality or out of it.

Lupin led him to a small sitting room and politely offered him a seat by gesturing to one of a pair of rather shabby, obviously second-hand chairs. There was a small couch, rather ill-used, pushed back away from the chairs, as though it was no longer needed. Lupin also offered to get a couple mugs of tea and Daughton thought it impolite to refuse, and glanced around the room as the werewolf slipped almost soundlessly down the hall to what Daughton presumed was the kitchen.

Though the room, lined with crammed bookshelves (where most of the Lupins' surplus money went, Daughton was sure), felt somehow cozy instead of crowded, Daughton allowed himself to silently panic. He berated himself for letting his curiosity dictate his actions, because he had no idea where to go from here. He didn't want to sound rude, nor sit in uncomfortable silence for an hour, but he knew very little about Tilia's husband that he could put to use without fear of offending him. It wasn't from Tilia that he had heard the stories.

Lupin returned, handed Daughton a slightly battered, though clean, mug of tea, and settled himself on the chair across from the other man. His eyes were watchful, and he did not allow himself to relax completely. Daughton shifted uncomfortably under the werewolf's silent scrutiny. It was Lupin who broke the silence.

"What is it you wanted to speak to Tilia about?" he asked, his expression bland, but his voice betraying a little bit of worry.

"I would rather not say," Daughton replied.

Lupin's jaw tightened. "If this has anything to do with me—" he began quietly.

"I would rather not say," Daughton interrupted, looking away.

Lupin sighed. "Then why did you stay? If you'll excuse the rudeness of the question."

Daughton had expected the question, and debated his answer. Lupin surprised him; he was calm, polite, a seeming gentleman—Daughton never would have guessed he was speaking to a werewolf if he had not known. He considered lying about his reasons for staying, but none of the lies he came up with would fool the werewolf seated opposite him, watching his every move almost unconsciously, as though such close scrutiny was normal.

He decided on the truth. "I was curious."

Lupin looked rather taken aback for a moment, before his emotionless mask returned. "Didn't you ever hear the old adage about curiosity and the cat?" he asked softly, with just a hint of the perfectly controlled power so evident in his features.

Daughton laughed. "If you're a murderer, I'm a horklump."

Lupin's mouth twisted in a wry grin. He knew Daughton was no fool, and a barely perceptible release of tension showed Lupin's relief at the other man's reaction. "I knew there was a reason Tilia liked you." Daughton tilted his head, questioning. Lupin allowed his smile to become a bit more genuine. "I've never heard a bad word about you."

"You're exaggerating," Daughton said.

"Only a little. I like to avoid hyperbole," Lupin said. "Was there anything specific you wanted to know?"

Daughton shook his head slightly, as though to clear it. _A werewolf with manners and an education_, Daughton thought. It was disconcerting, how many stereotypes Lupin was laying to waste by simply sitting there and talking like a rational human being—an oxymoron in itself, speaking of literary terms.

Lupin was waiting for a response, and Daughton blurted the first thing that came to mind--what he had been wondering since he had first seen the article about the foolish marriage of the young woman he wanted to hire. "I've always wondered what Tilia was thinking, to marry a werewolf."

He winced apologetically, knowing as he spoke that it was the wrong thing to say, but somehow unable to stop himself in the face of that unrelenting amber gaze.

Lupin's face had closed again, but he answered the question Daughton hadn't quite asked in a quiet, almost pained, tone. "We were young, and afraid of losing each other. People—" _the Ministry_ "—thought we wouldn't last, that we would find other people to cling to, especially after the law changed." Lupin's frown deepened, and the sorrow in his eyes was suddenly more pronounced. "It turns out we lost everything else. We have no one else to hold on to."

"And the Ministry hasn't…protested…?" Daughton trailed off, remembering the reason for his visit to the Lupins' home.

"They have," Lupin said darkly.

Daughton shivered at the look in the amber eyes, but decided that he didn't really want to pursue that line of thought any further. Since the werewolf did not know what he was here to say, something else must have happened to warrant that look, fierce and ugly. But it had only been there for a second, before the other's face was guarded again. _Best to change the subject_, Daughton thought. Not that he was uncomfortable, or anything. His mind seized on Lupin's mention in the change of law, a topic he had also wondered about when the Ministry was implementing the changes.

"But the laws have been largely unsuccessful at subduing the werewolves the Ministry considers 'feral,' haven't they?"

"Do you really want to get me started?" Lupin asked, his eyes flashing slightly.

"Bit of a sore point, hm?" Daughton asked. "Are you actually going to get emotional?"

Lupin raised his eyebrows. "Surely you know that the only reason I hide my emotion is that most people believe werewolves do not feel anything beyond instinct."

Daughton frowned. _Instinct—hunger, thirst, fear, rage, and lust. Yes, he'd heard. _"I had thought—obviously that's not true." Judging by Lupin, it couldn't be.

Lupin smiled slightly, seemingly knowing what the older man was thinking. "Obviously. Most beliefs about werewolves as people are false—mostly because most people believe werewolves are subhuman." He stopped, his intense gaze curious as it rested on Daughton. "You're actually interested in this, aren't you?" he asked incredulously.

Daughton nodded, smiling wryly. "I've heard bits and pieces of Tilia's rant about the legislators creating the monsters they seek to prevent—" Lupin rolled his eyes with a mirroring wry smile, but there was something in his expression, and in the fact that Lupin was sitting there, having a civilized conversation, that spoke volumes for the veracity of Tilia's argument.

Daughton sighed. "I've always meant to ask her more about it, but I always forget in the face of work-related conversations."

The werewolf, _Remus_, laughed softly. "Depending on your reaction, you might do better to ask me. Til doesn't always remember to reign in her temper."

And he was off, explaining what the laws meant for werewolves in general and for him specifically. Daughton was surprised, though by now he knew he shouldn't be, by the younger man's ability to explain the situation coherently, and even more surprised by his willingness to listen to and answer most of Daughton's questions, not all of which were purely objective. By the time the estimated hour wait was over, Daughton was truly dreading Tilia's return. He _couldn't_ fire her for something so shallow, something the Ministry, judging by the picture Remus had painted, had never understood.

Sometime in the past hour Daughton had stopped thinking of Remus as a mere werewolf, and he thought he understood a little better now, and that seemed to make a world of difference.

But Tilia came, slightly late, with a shouted "hello" and a heavy thump as she dropped a small load of groceries in the kitchen. She froze when she entered the sitting room and saw her employer.

"Er, good afternoon?" It was a question, though not the one she wanted to ask.

"I needed to speak to you. Your husband was kind enough to allow me to wait, rather than attempt to guess when you would be back," Daughton answered the unasked question.

Tilia blinked, and sank onto the vacant couch. "Oh," was her only response for a moment. Then she recovered herself and said, "You've met Remus, then?"

"Yes," Daughton said, taking pity on her, and not mentioning the fact that her husband had never properly introduced himself. It wasn't something he couldn't have figured out. Their names had been in the paper often enough at one point, after all. "I've just spent the better part of an hour talking to him," he added, "and I'm rather disinclined to say what I originally came here to say."

Remus sighed. "Then it does have something to do with me." His voice was flat, as devoid of emotion as it had been an hour ago.

Tilia's eyes flicked to Remus, silently asking for an explanation. Remus gave no outward reply, but she bit her lip, as plainly nervous as though he had told her something important.

"I am sorry," Daughton murmured, confirming Remus' fear. "Tilia, the, er, Ministry inspection was last week."

It was an abrupt change in topic to Remus, but to Tilia it made sense. "I know. I tried to make myself scarce—" she said.

"They want me to get rid of you," Daughton cut across her bluntly.

Tilia closed her eyes, sighing. "I didn't think that they'd given up. I know they don't recognize our marriage, but I thought that after—" She stopped when Daughton shook his head. He'd avoided asking Remus about what had happened between them and the Ministry. He didn't know the younger man well enough. But he thought he might be able to ask Tilia.

"It's been five years since that bungler Merton let those rumors slip. I don't know the truth of it, beyond the patch job the Ministry made of it, and the rumors, but it sounds like you scared the Minister, badly. Enough time has passed that the Minister's fear has dulled enough to try you again. But, Tilia," Daughton said, grey eyes serious, "what _did_ happen?"

Tilia looked to Remus, a silent plea for help. He answered, "She basically shouted down the Minister, claiming the Minister was perpetrating a lie, and, well, she said that the Ministry was no better than Voldemort."

Daughton flinched as much at the accusation as at the name.

Remus sighed. "The Minister threatened her with Azkaban and death, but couldn't stare Tilia down, so she decided to claim that Tilia was unstable and dangerous, and let me go on lack of evidence."

Daughton sighed heavily. "In other words, the Minister realized she had no hold over Tilia, and, frightened by her lack of control, made a rash decision. Now she's finally got the nerve to try to remedy that mistake." He laughed suddenly. "No wonder they covered it up. Millicent Bagnold is supposed to have an unbreakable will. That's why they named her Minister at the height of You-Know-Who's power."

"And she thinks the loss of all monetary support will break us," Tilia said resignedly.

"Won't it?" Daughton asked, eyebrows raised in surprise.

An indiscernible look passed between the two Lupins, and then Tilia slowly shook her head. "We'll manage, even if we have to resort to Muggle jobs to do it."

"Now who has an unbreakable will?" Daughton asked, laughing quietly. "I think the Minister's finally met her match. And I'm sure you'll more than manage without resorting to Muggle jobs."

Tilia raised an eyebrow in question.

"I believe I said they _wanted_ me to get rid of you, not that I was _going _to fire you." A sudden, unfamiliar gleam of hope lit in Tilia's perpetually sad eyes. Daughton smiled. "I think you deserve a chance, and I think I should mention that this is mainly due to the past hour. Not—" he added hastily as Tilia quirked her inquisitive eyebrow higher "—not that I wanted to lose my best researcher; I simply didn't know enough to make an informed decision and trusted the Ministry to be better informed than I. Obviously I was wrong. You have something worth fighting for, and I can't foresee anything happy in the future of those who try to stop you."

Tilia was mollified, but her smile was hesitant at best. "I—are you sure you want to defy the Minister for _our_ cause?"

_Have you truly been driven to trust so little?_ Daughton sighed. He didn't have the nerve to ask either of them that. "I really don't want to lose your work," he said instead.

Tilia's eyes darted to Remus to catch his reaction, and a slow but sure smile stole into her eyes in reply to his gentle smile.

It was minutes later that Daughton, mildly embarrassed by their profuse thanks, told her that she had better not be late to work tomorrow, and found himself escorted out the door. Blinking in the sunlight, he sighed. _Well_, he thought, _that went well. Not exactly as I thought, but better than expected_. The door that closed behind him didn't sound sinister this time. If anything, it echoed with the gratitude of the man who closed it.


	16. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to J. K. Rowling. Tilia is mine.

Fifteen: The Hogwarts Letter

Harry blinked as the Lupins' shabby kitchen rematerialized around him. Quite a bit of time had passed, if the amount of grey in Remus' hair was anything to judge by. He looked like the new professor Harry had met on the train his third year. The newspaper Remus was hiding behind confirmed the eight-year time jump. The date was sometime in late July of 1993, and the headline warned the wizarding world of the danger of Sirius Black.

Tilia, who looked as though she hadn't slept much, was reviving over a mug of tea and some toast. Remus looked over the top of the _Prophet_ with a frown when he heard Tilia's gasp.

"Oh, my," she said weakly. "How—how did—?"

"They don't say," Remus told her.

"But they must have _some_ idea," she said desperately.

"They don't," Remus replied, "but I do, and I don't think I like it."

"You can't think that _Padfoot_—" Tilia said, eyes wide. Remus flinched at her use of the nickname, a name Harry was sure they had not used in twelve years. Tilia took Remus' flinch as confirmation.

"Dementors drain a wizard's power, even the Animagus transformation. I'm sure there's another explanation," she said, very matter-of-factly for a woman who had been half-asleep and slightly panicked only a minute ago.

Remus frowned. "I'm not sure—"

But what he was unsure of, Harry didn't find out because at that moment a handsome tawny owl flew in the open window, bringing with it a smattering of raindrops that blurred the blinking picture of Sirius Black.

Remus took the proffered letter nervously; the owl refused a piece of Tilia's toast and vanished into the thickening rain. Tilia stood to close the window after it. Remus simply stared for a long moment at the purple wax seal bearing the Hogwarts crest. It was familiar—terribly familiar on this morning that was dredging up so many suppressed memories—and it was the last thing he had expected. He wouldn't have questioned the blue seal of Fudge's Ministry, but Hogwarts, Dumbledore…he wasn't sure what would be in the letter.

"If you don't open that letter soon, I'm going to drop from sheer curiosity," Tilia said, sitting back down across from Remus.

"Or sheer exhaustion," he said, eyebrows raised. "You've got to stop taking night watch right after the full moon."

"But someone has to be there to make sure standing Potions don't explode, and Lydia couldn't make it," Tilia protested.

"Every month on the night after the full moon?" Remus asked wearily, as though this was an old argument.

Tilia grimaced and said, "Just open the letter."

Remus sighed and carefully drew the parchment from the envelope and read it. Harry recognized the slanting writing immediately.

"What does it say?" Tilia asked when Remus didn't react. He handed the letter over, numb with shock.

"'Dear Mr. Lupin, I am sorry to say that I, once again, find myself short a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and not one of the applicants who answered my advertisement is adequately qualified. In light of recent events, I do not want to make the same mistake as last year…'" Tilia muttered, reading half aloud, and half to herself. She glanced at Remus. "That's all well and good, but what—"

"Keep reading," Remus said hoarsely.

Tilia bit her lip and turned back to the letter. "…Yes, but—'I wish to offer the position to you. Certain precautions'…'Wolfsbane'…'Shrieking Shack still available'…'await your decision by owl no later than next Thursday.' Remus, this is wonderful." Tilia looked back across to him. He still seemed rather shocked. She sighed.

"Please, Remus. You'd be teaching again, teaching _magic_ to teenagers, not the alphabet to hyperactive five-year-olds. Teaching is better than some of the crap jobs you take."

"Yes, but." He stopped.

"What?"

"The teachers know I'm a werewolf."

"So-o?" Tilia asked slowly, speaking volumes in one drawn-out syllable.

"If the students find out—and the parents. If they've read the papers…"

Tilia put her elbow on the table and her face in her palm. "That was what? Fourteen, fifteen years ago? If they remember anything so insignificant as our marriage was to the larger picture of the world at the time, I'm a horklump."

"Ew," Remus shuddered. "But the Ministry will never—I mean, they'll remember that I was—Black's friend. They won't want me at Hogwarts."

"Maybe that's why Dumbledore wants you there." She was looking at him, sincerity and concern in her eyes.

"To protect me from the Ministry? You did that last time."

"That's not what I meant," Tilia said, exasperated.

"Then what? To stop me killing Black? Because I'm not sure I wouldn't."

"I'm not sure you would," Tilia retorted. "Something wasn't right about that whole affair, and we haven't been told everything concerning Sirius' escape." Remus rolled his eyes, not wanting to debate Black's guilt again. Tilia sighed. "Maybe he wants you to protect Harry."

Remus twitched. "He wouldn't let us anywhere near Harry. He actually magically stopped us from going to see him, remember? Why would he want me to protect him now?"

"Because you know Sirius best."

"No, James—" Remus closed his eyes and sagged slightly as he let out a heavy sigh. "I suppose you're right."

"I'm always right," Tilia said smugly.

"If that was the case, I would've run away a long time ago," Remus said, smirking at the mock-glare she shot at him. He shook his head and summoned a piece of parchment, a quill with a broken feather sticking out at strange angles, and an inkpot that had seen better days.

"What's that for?" Tilia asked.

"I'm replying to Dumbledore," Remus said.

Tilia sighed, eyeing the woebegone quill distastefully. "Remind me to buy you a new quill before you go."

Remus looked at it and grimaced. "Yeah. And maybe a new inkpot while you're at it."

Harry blinked in surprise as the scene swirled away. He'd never known that Remus and Tilia had tried to see him, though he had often wondered why they hadn't--Tilia was his godmother, after all. Now he knew that it all came down to Dumbledore's grand plan—he sighed, wishing that for once, the headmaster had thought of the people involved in his plan, and not just the mechanisms of the plan's inner workings. Then he smiled. If nothing else, he had one less thing to keep him awake and wondering at night…


	17. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to J. K. Rowling. Tilia is mine.

A/N: Sorry for the wait on the updates. It's going to be a few days before I can update again, so I thought I'd put up two today.

Sixteen: The Prisoner of Azkaban

The scene swirled and kept on swirling. Harry blinked, trying to see through the thick snow. A gust of fitful wind cleared his vision for a moment, and he caught sight of Tilia and Remus leaving a very crowded Honeydukes. Harry frowned in confusion and hurried to catch up with them.

"Now what?" Tilia shouted to be heard above the wind.

Remus leant close to her and replied in her ear, brushing a fleeting kiss against her cheek as he straightened again, confident that no one could see them through the whirling snow. They set off in the direction of the Three Broomsticks.

The pub was completely full, so the Lupins, unnoticed by the masses of students trying to get warm, settled themselves at an out-of-the-way table, partially hidden by one of the miniature Christmas trees that Hermione had used to hide Harry from the teachers and Fudge on the last Hogsmeade trip before the holiday third year. The invisible Harry looked around the decorated room, but he did not see himself, Ron, Hermione, or Hagrid. He assumed that they hadn't arrived yet, and settled himself next to Tilia and Remus.

"So," she was saying, "that's how I've been getting along. I really miss your cooking, you know." Remus laughed softly.

"Anyway, what's been going on here?"

"Don't you _read_ my letters?" he asked, eyes shining with mock-hurt and amusement.

"Of course I do. If I didn't, I couldn't have taken today off to see you." She took a sip of butterbeer. "I am sorry about Halloween, though."

Remus shrugged. "That's alright. I ended up having tea with Harry…" He told Tilia about the conversation he had had with Harry on Halloween.

"Boggart?" Tilia asked in sudden consternation. "You threw yourself in front of a boggart with a whole class watching?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "I doubt anyone noticed."

"How did you counter it?"

"Um. I think I turned it into a cockroach."

Tilia wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Why?"

He shrugged again. "Because…?" It wasn't a very convincing response.

She shook her head. "And no one noticed how _not _amusing that was."

He sighed. "I'm willing to bet most of them forgot in the face of Neville's boggart."

"As in Longbottom?" Remus nodded.

"Was it that horrible?" Tilia asked.

He shook his head, suppressing a smile. "The poor boy is terrified of Snape. I gave him a suggestion, and he dressed the boggart in his grandmother's clothes."

Tilia's eyes widened in surprise, and then she burst out laughing. "Oh," she gasped. "I can just imagine the look on Snape's face when he found out."

Remus gave her a sheepish grin, which caused Tilia to laugh harder. To cover his blush, he glanced out the window. "I think the snow's letting up. Why don't we walk a bit? It's stifling in here."

Outside, the wind whipped what was left of the falling snow into a thick, white veil. As Harry followed the Lupins into the village, he caught a snatch of a familiar voice on the wind. He shivered, surprised that Remus had not noticed Ron, Hermione, and his younger self as they passed mere feet away in the swirling snow.

The scene changed.

Tilia walked into her kitchen and stopped, dropping her bag with a loud clunk as she stared at Remus. The werewolf was sitting at the table, blankly watching the flowers bobbing in the open window. The chipped mug of hot chocolate resting near his elbow had gone cold.

"Hello, Tilia," he said without turning around.

Kicking her bag out of the way, she hurried around the table. She sank into the chair opposite her husband, frowning at the bandages showing at his wrists and neck. "Remus, what—?" Tilia cut herself off, knowing that he did not respond well to direct interrogation. She sighed, and prompted him by stating fact. "The end of term is two weeks away."

"Yes." Remus took one look at her face and knew that he would have to tell her sooner rather than later. He really wished he had had more time to sort out last night's events for himself, but he knew that Sirius' most recent escape would be heavily publicized. Tilia deserved to know that she had been right, and that he had been very wrong.

Tilia opened her mouth, most likely to ask why he was here and not at Hogwarts, but Remus stopped her by saying, "Sirius turned up again last night."

Her eyes widened. "What happened?" she asked anxiously.

"He got away, but it's complicated," Remus answered.

"Is that why you're here?"

"Indirectly." He paused, taking a sip from his cold mug. He grimaced; Tilia shot a warming charm at it. Remus gave her a grateful smile, took a long, steadying drink, pushed his hair out of his face, and explained.

She sat silently for a long moment after he had finished. He watched her nervously, waiting for her reaction. Finally, she gave a short laugh and murmured, "A time-turner and a stolen hippogriff? That'll be one for the history books." She looked up at Remus. "That doesn't explain why you're here."

He sighed, thinking he should have known better than to omit that particular detail. "Fudge was under the impression that Snape had saved Harry from Sirius…and me. He had offered Snape the Order of Merlin, but when Dumbledore convinced Fudge that I had also been trying to save Harry, Ron, and Hermione…" Remus trailed off.

"Well, that lost Snape the Order of Merlin because I doubt the Ministry was going to award it to him _and_ you," Tilia said.

"My story did negate much of Snape's, and Dumbledore backed me because my story matched Sirius' and Harry's. Snape was upset, so at breakfast he told the Slytherin table that I'm a werewolf. The whole school knew within a quarter of an hour, so I resigned, rather than face all the parents, and the Ministry," Remus finished.

"And the students," Tilia added.

"Hm?" But he looked away, his expression slightly guilty.

"You didn't want to face your students, either," she elaborated. Harry knew by the closed expression on Remus' face that Tilia needn't have explained. They had both known what she meant when she said it.

She sighed, realizing that her husband would always need to be liked in a world that would never accept him. It was one of his major failings. Not that she could talk, with a temper like hers.

"Where do you think Sirius is headed?" she asked to change the subject.

"What?" Remus shook himself back to the present. "Oh. I don't know. We'll probably get a letter once he's settled somewhere. I doubt he'll want to lose touch, now that he's free to have contact with people. I don't think hippogriffs are great conversationalists."

Tilia laughed, and Remus joined her. There was a moment's silence before Remus turned to look out the window, nervously pushing his hair from his face.

"You were right, you know," he said quietly.

Tilia tilted her head, brow creased in confusion.

Remus took a deep breath. "About Sirius. There was something wrong with the whole thing; I mean, he never even got a trial. I was so sure, though, that it was Sirius, and he was my best friend. Why—?"

"Remus." Tilia cut him off. Her eyes locked on his as she tried to make sense of all the evidence. "Remus, Dumbledore suspected me. He sent me on those bogus missions to see if I was the spy, but Sirius knew it _wasn't_ me. He must have suspected you, pulled away from you, and you suspected him because of that. Peter must have been watching from the sidelines, laughing, while James and Lily tried to fix it, but none of us listened. We were betrayed. All of us."

He looked away from her intense gaze, but nodded.

"Now what do we do?" he asked, meeting her eyes again.

"Whatever happens next, we have to try to make this right."

Remus smiled a bit grimly, and took the last sip of his hot chocolate, making a face because it had gone cold again.

Tilia laughed, spoiling the somber mood as the scene whirled away, carrying Harry into the time he knew best. His stomach clenched in dread at the thought. The second war had not been kind to anyone, and he knew only vague details of what the Lupins had done for the Order of the Phoenix. They alone had refused to publicize their story after the war was over; after everything he'd seen so far tonight, he now knew why.

For the first time since falling into the Pensieve, he wondered what time it was, whether Tilia and Remus had made it back yet, and when they were going to come find him. As their kitchen rematerialized around him, this time late at night, he realized he was hungry. He pushed his worries aside, however, when Remus stood to answer a scratching at the door.


	18. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to J. K. Rowling. Tilia is mine. I hope my rendition of the night at the end of GoF is not too far-fetched.

Seventeen: The Old Crowd

Remus and Tilia stared at Sirius. The news he brought to their kitchen late that June night was not unexpected, but both Lupins were having a hard time believing that Voldemort had managed to get away with having a Death Eater impersonate Alastor Moody and kidnap Harry Potter under Albus Dumbledore's nose.

However, their surprise did not matter at the moment, because they were facing the task of finding what was left of the Order of the Phoenix and convincing them, at this time of night, to come to the Lupins' home in response to a call from Dumbledore, a call they had hoped would never come. In the face of all the evidence that had piled up over the last year, it had been a foolish hope.

Harry watched as Remus and Sirius Apparated out of the kitchen. Tilia stayed behind to let the Order members through the wards Remus had put up around the house, apparently to make it impossible for reporters to find them. Harry thought he had been told once that Remus had studied to be a ward-smith, a specialized kind of spell-smith, or creator of spells, that focused on erecting and dismantling wards. Remus was supposed to be very good at it, but no one would hire a werewolf.

The first member of the Order to arrive with a clang of the ward-chime, probably straight from Hogwarts, was Molly Weasley. Before Tilia could introduce herself, the chime clanged again, and she hurried to answer it. She spent the next half-hour running between the house and the front gate because she didn't want anyone waiting on the pavement. She explained quickly to Elphias Doge that they didn't live in a very good neighborhood, and she didn't want any accidents to alert the Ministry to what was going on.

But Harry already knew that. Bored, he searched the room for Mrs. Weasley. He remembered how cold she had been to Tilia the first summer in Grimmauld Place, and he wondered what she made of the situation. As the Lupins' small living room filled with people and hastily conjured seating, Molly had moved to stand in a corner with Arthur and Bill, but she didn't look very worried about the surroundings or the people she would be associating with. Thinking back to all the shouting in Grimmauld's kitchen, Harry assumed she didn't know yet.

Finally, Remus came back dragging a disgruntled Mundungus Fletcher with him. He glanced around, counted, frowned, and made his way over to Tilia.

"Is this it?" he asked quietly. "There aren't even ten people here."

Tilia looked at the room. "I think so. Is Sirius—? Oh, no. He's there. Who's going to tell Arabella?"

"What, ole Figgy?" Dung asked.

Remus made a face. "I forgot, sorry. I'll go get her. If Dumbledore gets here first—"

"I'll let him know." Tilia finished. Remus nodded and Disapparated.

After she'd managed to get away from Mundungus, Tilia put a hand to her forehead, kneading it with her fingertips.

"Are you all right?" Emmeline Vance asked.

Tilia smiled wanly. "Yes. We were expecting it—just not this soon." Emmeline nodded agreement as the ward-chime clanged again. "That'll be Dumbledore. Excuse me."

Remus arrived with Arabella Figg five minutes after Dumbledore, Snape, and McGonagall. The two carefully squeezed into the kitchen; normally a cozy space, it was now unbearably cramped with the addition of seating for ten. Dumbledore nodded to them, and then stood. He glanced around, and sat back down.

"I am afraid that it seems silly for me to stand to address you in such a small space." Tilia and Remus exchanged a slightly annoyed glance; he could have sent them all to anyone else's house. Dumbledore ignored them, and continued speaking.

"Though I am sure you have all been informed of the reason for this meeting, I will state it again: Lord Voldemort has returned." There was silence as he paused. "Tonight, during the third task of the Triwizard Tournament, Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory were transported by Portkey to a graveyard. There, Harry witnessed Voldemort's rebirth and the reformation of the Death Eaters. He survived to return to Hogwarts and out the imposter Voldemort smuggled into the school. Cedric Diggory was not so fortunate."

There was some murmuring at this, but it ceased as Dumbledore continued to fully explain about Barty Crouch, Jr., Voldemort's speech to the recalled Death Eaters, and _Priori Incantatem_.

"The Minister has been informed; however, he refuses to believe that Voldemort is back," the headmaster concluded.

Once again, there was a general muttering, this time in disbelief that anyone could be so blind. Dumbledore held up a hand for silence. "Until we meet again, and I shall alert you when I have found a suitable place for Headquarters because this won't do for the long-term, I would like you to look for likely recruits and to begin to collect information on the Death Eaters Harry named. If any other names of those who claimed to be Imperiused but seemed to not have been come to mind, collect information on them as well.

"Molly, Arthur, Bill, if you could stay a little longer, the rest of you are free to go."

Over the racket of scraping chairs, Dumbledore turned to Remus. "Alastor was wondering, Remus, if you would be able to redo his wards sometime soon?"

"Whenever he prefers," Remus replied. "Delores Umbridge managed to push another bill through; it's impossible for me to get a job. I have time."

"Did it pass, then?" Minerva McGonagall asked.

"Unfortunately," Tilia said. There was a general wince of sympathy. The three Weasleys glanced at each other in confusion.

"Is that bad?" Molly asked. "I thought she was the one who amended the legislation against werewolves."

Quite a few people took the ensuing silence as an opportunity to leave before Tilia exploded. Their fear was, for the moment, unfounded. Her eyes simply widened in surprise. "Oh! I never did introduce myself."

The last few people, glancing between Molly and Tilia, bolted for the door. Molly frowned at the empty room. "No, you didn't."

"Well, I'm Tilia Lupin, and this is my husband, Remus." There was a moment's silence before Molly jumped to her feet, glaring at Dumbledore.

"First Sirius Black," she said angrily, "Then Mundungus Fletcher, Alastor Moody and Severus Snape. Now this? Headmaster, these—_these _people are going to convince the Ministry that You-Know-Who is back?" There was an incredulous note in her voice.

"Molly," Arthur said wearily, "please sit down."

When she didn't respond, Dumbledore calmly told her, "They fought the first war."

"But—they're all either insane or criminals. They're all dangerous!"

Tilia's jaw dropped. "Now wait just a minute—"

She was interrupted by Arabella Figg, who chose that moment to return from the bathroom. She stared at the scene for a moment. "Oh," she said into the tense silence. "Everyone seems to have left. Could someone be so kind as to take me home?"

Remus began to stand, but Dumbledore answered first. "I would like you to stay for a few minutes yet. Molly, if you could sit down as well, please…?"

Mrs. Weasley reluctantly sat, her expression as dark as a thunderstorm. Once Mrs. Figg had sat, Dumbledore attempted a polite introduction.

"Now," he said, "Molly, Arthur, Bill, I believe you have not met Remus and Tilia Lupin, Sirius Black, and Arabella Figg. You three, Arabella, this is Arthur and Molly Weasley, and their eldest son, Bill. I wish to speak to you seven about Harry."

"What do _they_ have to do with Harry?" Molly asked suspiciously.

"I'm Harry's godfather, and Tilia is his godmother," Sirius snapped. Remus winced.

"Tilia isn't technically, Sirius. The Ministry and, until now, Dumbledore have refused to let us anywhere near him."

"I should hope so," Molly sniffed. Tilia looked as though she was going to reply, but Remus put a hand on her arm and she glanced away.

"Molly," Arthur said heavily, "you don't know anything about them."

"I read the paper."

"You can't believe everything you read," Tilia said sharply.

Dumbledore stopped the beginning of another argument by saying, "Molly, I'm going to have to ask you, for the moment, to put your personal prejudices aside. Tilia, if you could try a little harder to not upset everyone you meet…?" Both of them looked away, but neither relaxed.

"As to Sirius' point, yes, Tilia is Harry's godmother; however, I thought it best that Harry should stay with his aunt and uncle."

Sirius started to protest, but Dumbledore held up a hand. "It is for the best. He will be safe as long as he can stay at his aunt's. Arabella, I want you to keep an eye on him this summer."

"But he can't stay there all summer!" Molly and Sirius shouted at the same time. They glared at each other as Dumbledore sighed.

"Until we have a proper Headquarters set up and secured, he will stay at his aunt's. Arabella?"

"Of course I'll look out for him," she said.

"Thank you. That, I think, will be all for tonight."

"You need somewhere secure for Headquarters?" Sirius asked when the headmaster stood to leave.

"Yes?" Dumbledore asked as Tilia said, "Where have you been for the past twenty minutes?"

"Hm," Sirius said, his gaze distant. "Tilia, whatever happened to Mum?"

Everyone stared at him in confusion. "Aunt Walburga?" Tilia finally asked in a bewildered tone.

"Yes."

Tilia made a face. "She died a while ago. Why?"

"Who did the house go to?"

She stared at him blankly, before slowly shaking her head. "Grimmauld?" she asked incredulously. "No. We're not going back there. No one's been inside for years. The place has probably fallen down, and nobody knows or cares."

"Right," Sirius said. "I'm not thrilled with this idea either, but it's already unplottable, and you can't get in by direct Apparating or by Floo without the ward-key—"

"Which we don't have," Tilia interrupted.

"Remus could figure it out, right?" Sirius asked.

"Er—" Remus began.

"See?" Sirius said. He glanced around at the others. Tilia looked mutinous, Dumbledore looked thoughtful, the rest simply looked at him blankly.

"What are we talking about, exactly?" Molly asked.

"My mother's house," Sirius said. Tilia replied at exactly the same time.

"The abandoned ancestral home of pureblood supremacists who, on their travels, collected Dark artifacts as souvenirs."

There was a small silence. "Your aunt's house?" Remus asked Tilia. She nodded. "The one Narcissa tried to sue for?"

"But there wasn't anyone to sue," Tilia said. "Bella is in Azkaban, Regulus is dead, and Sirius, Andromeda, and I are disowned."

"So the house went to—?" Dumbledore asked.

"Whoever can get through the wards," Tilia replied. They all stared at her. She sighed. "Okay, fine. Probably Sirius, since Regulus died, and no other recipient was specified. It reverts to the eldest Black, heir or not. But Cissa tried to get in. None of the ward-smiths she hired could."

"Remus, do you think you could take a look at those wards?" Dumbledore asked.

"I can't promise anything," he said. "And I'd have to know where they are."

"Sirius and Tilia can show you."

Tilia started to protest, but Dumbledore said, "If all that protection is already in place, it could save us time. And now I really do have to get back to Hogwarts. Have a good night."

"What's left of it," Sirius said darkly.

The Weasleys left with Dumbledore, and Remus took Arabella home. When he returned a few minutes later, he sank heavily into a chair across from Tilia and Sirius.

"Cup of tea?" Sirius asked.

Remus shook his head. "I'm off to bed, I think. It's been a long night."

Tilia laughed mirthlessly. "It's only the beginning of the nightmare. It's not even ten o'clock yet, and the night will only get worse."

Sirius groaned. "No more metaphors. It's two in the morning. You shouldn't be able to think like that."

"Just go to sleep, both of you," Remus grumbled as he stood up. "I have a feeling we're going to need it."

Once again, the scene dissolved.


	19. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to J. K. Rowling. Tilia is mine.

Eighteen: Scenes from Grimmauld Place

Chaos surrounded Harry as the front hallway of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place appeared. Five school trunks, two suitcases, a cardboard box, and Crookshanks' basket littered the floor, and ten people were standing among it all. Remus and Sirius were fighting to silence Mrs. Black's portrait, Ron was trying to stop Pigwidgeon's mad hooting, and Molly was shouting at Fred and George. Both twins looked like they were sorely regretting not taking their mother's advice to keep quiet in the hall.

With an effort, Remus and Sirius managed to close the curtains over the insane portrait. Molly immediately stopped screaming as well, and a ringing silence fell. Remus rubbed his ears for a moment; Sirius whacked him on the arm for being such a wimp. The werewolf glared back and gestured to Fred and George's trunks. Sirius made a face, but turned to levitate them when his friend raised his eyebrows. Molly shook her head and began to whisper a protest, but Tilia had already lifted Ginny and Hermione's trunks with a lazy flick of her wand. Remus took Ron's trunk and one of the suitcases, and Arthur grabbed the other suitcase. They all began to troop up the stairs single-file, those in the back jostling the trunks that floated in front with muttered apologies to those who were levitating them.

At the first landing, Remus pulled open the door to the left of the hallway. "Ron, this will be yours and Harry's room." Turning to the others as well as Ron, he said, "You should all probably lock your doors at night. I know Molly doesn't like the idea, but it isn't pleasant to wake up in the middle of the night with Kreacher standing there, muttering."

"Who's Kreacher?" Ginny asked.

"The old house-elf who lives here. He's picked up the former family's pureblood prejudices, I'm afraid," Tilia answered as she returned from the floor above. The five children stared at her. Realizing they hadn't been introduced, Remus performed quick introductions. Then he lifted the suitcase again.

"We might as well get the rest of this upstairs. Where's Sirius?"

"Up a floor already," Tilia told him.

"Mrs. Lupin?" Hermione asked as they began to continue up. Tilia opened her mouth, realized her usual response to being addressed was unnecessary, and closed it again. "Yes?" she finally managed to say.

Hermione frowned. "Did I say something?"

Remus laughed softly. "She's not used to people calling her that." He smiled at the five bemused looks he received. "Most people don't acknowledge our marriage because it's been illegal for werewolves to marry since six months after our wedding."

"That's horrible," Hermione said.

"That's life, I'm afraid," Tilia said bitterly. Before anyone could say anything else her dark expression brightened. "What was it you were going to ask?"

"Oh," Hermione said. "I was wondering where you put our trunks."

"Upstairs one floor, to the left."

"What's wrong with the room across from me?" Ron asked.

"We don't go in there," Tilia said. "We can't remove the picture of my great-aunt, and she is extraordinarily bigoted—in present company anyway." She paused, then added, "There's portraits in all the rooms, actually, but Aunt Walburga in the hall and Aunt Elladora are the worst. The one upstairs and to the right is rude, but not horrifyingly so. That's why the girls are on the left."

"Great," Ron muttered sarcastically. "Just what we need."

"What don't we need, Ron?" Ginny asked.

"Well, Fred and George'll either learn a load of swearwords, or they'll blow up the house trying to shut it up."

Ginny laughed as the twins attempted to look innocent. Remus, halfway up the next flight of stairs, turned back.

"Let's just ban all explosions now, then, shall we?" he said, grinning at the twins' injured expressions.

"Aw, c'mon, Professor," Fred whined. "You take all the fun out of it."

Molly frowned to hear Fred call Remus "professor." The werewolf noticed.

"I know. You didn't manage to pull a single prank on me at school. I'm going to have to discourage you from trying here. None of us will appreciate it. And, please," he added to all five children, "you don't have to call me 'professor' anymore. Remus is fine, but if you're not comfortable with that, Lupin will do." He turned to continue up the stairs.

Sirius poked his head out of the twins' room. "What do you mean we won't appreciate pranks, Moony? They'd liven up this crypt."

Remus rolled his eyes. "Don't encourage them. _Please_. Or I'll have to clean up after them, because I know you won't."

Tilia laughed, and Sirius grinned. "I'll just go get that other box, then," he said, imitating a man who is about to duck around the corner and run as fast as he can in the other direction.

"It needs to go to the kitchen," Molly said.

"The kitchen?" Sirius asked. "What's in it?"

"Cookware," Arthur answered quietly.

"Yeah, Mum couldn't bear to be parted from her pots," Fred grinned.

"Fred!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed sharply, as Sirius' frown deepened.

"Then why did we pack all of Remus' stuff?"

Remus sighed and attempted to head off another argument. "Because we can't afford to live on take-out when Molly isn't here, and I have to cook with something."

"But there's nothing wrong with your stuff! James and I charmed it ourselves!" Sirius said loudly and defensively.

"Only because it was cheaper that way," Tilia teased him with a smile.

"No! Well, that was part of it, but—" Sirius threw up his hands in defeat.

"I didn't think Tilia would mind if I cooked," Molly said.

"Me?" Tilia asked. "I can't cook for sh—beans."

"How do you eat, then?" Molly asked.

"Remus cooks," Tilia said. "I work full-time, and half the time I end up having to bring stuff home. I don't have time to cook. Besides, I never learned a thing my mother wanted to teach me."

"Speaking of which," Remus interjected before they could start shouting again. "The cabinet in the kitchen covered in caution tape is full of what Til brings back from work. Please don't touch it, as most of it has never been tested."

Hermione, Ron, and Ginny nodded. Fred and George agreed reluctantly when their former professor turned to them, eyebrows raised in question. Molly, surprised and a little jealous of how well the twins listened to Remus, turned to Tilia.

"You have removed the sign on the door, haven't you?"

"Sign?" Tilia asked.

"The dirty one," Molly elaborated.

Sirius laughed. "What, the one that says, 'Padfoot, keep your filthy puppy paws out or you will be neut—"

"_Yes_, that one," Molly said crossly.

The twins, Ron, and Ginny sniggered; Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Oh, _that_ one," Tilia said. "Sorry, I'll take care of it."

After she was gone, Fred asked, "Sirius, would she really do that?"

"Fred!" Mrs. Weasley snapped. Sirius just laughed.

"On certain days, in a foul temper, yes, she would."

"Sirius," Remus said warningly, pressing his fingers to his temples, "that doesn't say much."

"Why not?"

"Because there are days when I would, too."

Molly looked as offended as Sirius pretended to be. His retort, "You know you missed me," was almost lost amid gales of laughter, and the staircase slowly whirled away to be replaced by the kitchen. A meeting must have just ended because a group of people was heading for the stairs. Alastor Moody, however, made his way along the table to where Sirius, Tilia, and Remus were sitting. All three of them raised their eyebrows when they saw the young woman who followed Moody.

"Tonks," Moody said when he was close enough, "this is Sirius Black and Remus and Tilia Lupin," He turned to look at them. "This is Nymphadora Tonks. She's an Auror, and she wants to help collect Potter from his aunt's house. I told her to talk to you, Lupin, but she said she hadn't been introduced. If you'll excuse me, I have to give my invisibility cloak to Podmore; he's on duty tonight." He stumped off, leaving a slightly nervous Tonks staring at the three remaining Marauders.

After a long moment, Sirius said, "You're Andromeda's daughter, right?"

"Yeah," she said, sounding as though she had expected the question.

"Wow."

Tilia shook her head at him. "Do I want to know what that's about?"

"Last time I saw her, she was five years old. She yelled at me for calling her 'Nymphie.'" Remus and Tilia both covered a smile with their hands.

"Well, it's just Tonks now, unless you want a stinging hex where it hurts," she said.

"Ah, that's the spirit," Sirius said fondly. He kicked a chair out from under the table. "Have a seat."

Tonks took it, stumbling slightly as she stepped forward. She flushed, embarrassed about her clumsiness despite her bold words and bright pink hair. She turned to Tilia. "You're Mum's cousin, too, aren't you?"

"Yes, though we haven't seen each other in a long time."

"Dad said something about it a year ago when Sirius escaped," Tonks told her. "He mentioned it again last June—there was something in the paper, but Mum wouldn't talk about it."

"Andromeda doesn't approve of me," Tilia said.

Sirius snorted. "It's not you she has a problem with. No one has a problem with _you_, just your marriage."

"Now that isn't true," Tilia said, as Tonks asked, "Her marriage?"

"Did you read the papers yourself?" Remus asked. Tonks shook her head. "Ah," he said softly, as though that explained everything.

She frowned, then shrugged. "So Mad-Eye says you're in charge of getting Harry and that you're having trouble figuring out how to get his aunt and uncle out of the house?"

"Yes, I am," Remus smiled. "Everyone wants to fly as part of his guard, but no one wants to work out the logistics of the mission."

"So there's been no planning on Operation: Potter?" Tonks asked.

"We're working on it," Sirius grumbled. "Even though Remus is the only one who can go."

"Much to Molly's delight," Tilia murmured. Tonks gave her a questioning look. "Molly doesn't approve of us, either," Tilia added ruefully.

"Then who does approve of you?" Tonks blurted. They stared at her.

"Well, Alastor and Minerva…and Dumbledore, I suppose," Tilia said.

Tonks' eyes widened. "I just said that out _loud_?" She flinched in embarrassment when they nodded.

"Sorry."

"It's all right," Remus said kindly as Sirius laughed. Remus glared at him.

"It's just—her expression," Sirius gasped. "Sorry. Carry on."

"You'll just have to ignore him," Tilia said loftily. Tonks and Remus laughed at her mock-disdainful expression.

"So what are Harry's aunt and uncle like?" Tonks asked, diverting the topic from her verbal misstep.

When they had finished explaining, which took a while, due to Sirius' complaining, Tonks frowned. "Why didn't he live with you, though, if you're his godmother?"

"Dumbledore wanted him with his aunt, and the Ministry _didn't_ want him with us," Tilia said quietly.

"Er—" Tonks indicated that she didn't think much of that explanation.

Inevitably, Sirius blurted out the rest of it. "Because Moony's a werewolf."

"Oh!" Tonks exclaimed, eyes wide.

"Thank you, Sirius," Remus said sarcastically. "That's just what everyone wants to hear the first night they join a secret society that fights evil."

"No, it's not—"

Seeing the look on the Auror's face as she paused helplessly, Tilia smiled wryly. "Explains a lot, doesn't' it?"

"About everyone's reaction to you two, at least," Sirius said.

Tonks nodded slightly. "I guess." There was a silence. Tonks took advantage of it, tapping her forefinger against the table in time to the song that had been stuck in her head all day, and thinking.

"Yes?" Sirius prompted impatiently.

"Alright," she said brightly, coming back to the kitchen. "Here's what we can do about the Dursleys—what?" she asked, seeing the surprise on their faces.

"Nothing," Tilia said quickly. "What were you saying?"

"Well, I figure it's like this…"


	20. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to J. K. Rowling. Tilia is mine.

A/N: Chapters 18 and 19 were originally one chapter, but it was really long compared to the rest of the chapters in the story, so I split it into two--both of the scenes in last chapter are from the summer between Harry's fourth and fifth year, as is the first scene in this chapter. The last scene is from around Christmas, because I really do like Mrs. Weasley, but I think it would have taken her and Tilia more than a couple months to accept friendship from the other.

Nineteen: More Scenes from Grimmauld Place

Harry knew the Pensieve had taken him past the first few days of his arrival when the kitchen became the drawing room, which he had helped clean. A closer inspection of the two chairs and the settee grouped before the fireplace revealed a younger Harry and Sirius. They were sitting together on the cabbage-green, doxie-bitten settee, holding one of the Lupins' old photo albums between them. They were both surprisingly quiet; Harry was absorbing every image of his parents that he could, and Sirius was lost in memories.

The boy turned another page and frowned. The page held a picture of a twelve-year-old Tilia feverishly flipping through a book while Remus stared helplessly at a smoking cauldron, his eyes streaming from the fumes.

"Sirius?" he asked.

"Hm?" Sirius murmured, coming back to the present.

"Who's that? She's in half the pictures, and she kind of looks like you," the boy said.

"Oh, that's Tilia," Sirius said. "She's my cousin. She's one of the lovely burn marks on the tapestry." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the family tree hanging on the wall behind them.

"What's she doing in this picture?"

"Trying to save Moony's potion," Sirius replied.

"That's Professor Lupin?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, we were probably twelve."

"Why does she have to save the potion?"

"You see," Sirius said, "Remus is really bad at Potions, so Tilia tutored him. It's the only way he passed his O.W.L.s."

"Professor Lupin?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Everyone has a weak point Harry. Or several, more than likely." Sirius sighed. Then his eyes brightened. "They would come back to the common room every Wednesday and Tilia would tell us about all the crazy stuff that happened. So, one day I tagged along and took a load of pictures."

"Much to my embarrassment, as I recall," Remus said, causing both Harry and Sirius to jump. "Sorry. You didn't answer my knock, but when I heard what you were talking about, I had to come in. If you turn the page, Harry, I believe you will find a picture of that particular potion perpetually exploding."

Harry and Sirius laughed, but Remus sniffed in mock-condescension. "I have no idea what you find so amusing," he said loftily, causing the other two to laugh harder.

Between laughs, Sirius said, "Have a seat, Moony."

Remus shook his head. "Thanks, but I just came in to ask if you'd heard from Tilia."

Sirius shrugged. "She'll be back. Besides, why are you asking me?"

"Asking you what?" came Tilia's voice from the doorway.

The three turned to look at her. The invisible Harry saw his younger self's eyes widen in surprise. The boy had not met her yet, she had been out of the country tracking certain Death Eaters for Dumbledore, and she was pretty; she hadn't lost her looks as Sirius had. With only Sirius' wasted features as an example of the Black family face, it had been difficult to imagine what the girl in the pictures would grow up to look like. Harry, watching his past reaction, was quite certain that he had not imagined her to look like she did. He remembered that Ron had mentioned that Lupin had a gorgeous wife, but had dismissed it as Ron's usual exaggerations and promptly forgotten. He had to laugh at his surprise; he couldn't imagine Remus and Tilia separately now.

"Remus was asking me where you were, and I was about to tell him that he shouldn't rely on _me_ to keep track of _his_ wife," Sirius told her.

"You're married?" Harry asked Remus.

"Yes, I am," he replied. "Did no one tell you?"

"Ron might've mentioned it once," the boy replied.

"That's all right. I haven't been around much lately," she said quietly. "I'm Tilia. It's a pleasure to meet you again, Harry."

"Again?" he asked.

"She _is_ your godmother, Harry," Sirius told him.

"I have a godmother?" the boy gaped.

Tilia laughed sadly. "A woefully negligent one, I'm afraid."

"It was hardly your fault the Ministry didn't want the Boy-Who-Lived or whatever it is they called him in contact with a werewolf," Sirius snapped.

Harry frowned, but before he could say anything, Tilia murmured, "Ah, well. What's done is done." She took a deep breath and smiled. "What were you doing before I so rudely interrupted?"

"Hardly rudely, fair cousin," Sirius said, smiling as well.

"They're looking through our photo albums; they've just reached the pictures of the saga of the exploding potion that you wouldn't let me destroy," Remus told her.

Tilia blinked in confusion, then sat beside Sirius, and took the album from him. Then she, too, began to laugh as the scene dissolved.

The older Harry remembered the night well. They had stayed up far too late, poring over nearly nine year's worth of photographs. The Lupins had laughed at his surprise when he'd realized that each hole in their albums could be filled by one of the pictures in the album that Hagrid had made for Harry at the end of his first year. Harry couldn't forget how they'd brushed off his thanks, saying that they had hardly any need for the photos after all, but their smiles belied how pleased they were that he had been grateful for the pictures.

Molly had come in at midnight to tell them off for keeping Harry up. She hadn't been pleased to find out that Sirius had told Harry that Tilia was his godmother; she seemed to think it best if Harry had little to do with outcasts like them, but Harry had defended them. He had told her that he wanted to know his parents friends, his godparents, because he'd never have a chance to know his parents themselves. Molly hadn't known what to say to that, but after that night, she'd made an effort to hide her misgivings from the children. Remus managed to befriend her, but it took Tilia much longer to do the same. Their temperaments were too similar.

Harry was pulled out of his own memories as the darkened kitchen of Grimmauld Place once again materialized around him. He was surprised to find Tilia sitting alone on the table staring vaguely into the banked coals in the fireplace. Footsteps on the stairs made him turn, though Tilia didn't move. Remus paused at the foot of the stairs.

"Tilia?" he asked quietly. "It's two in the morning. Come to bed."

She sighed heavily. "I couldn't sleep, and I didn't want to bother you."

"I'm a chronic insomniac. It wouldn't have made a difference."

"I've never seen the point of staring at the dark. We see too much darkness during the day," she murmured.

"Metaphorical darkness." She nodded, though it hadn't been a question. He slowly moved towards her, and leaned against the edge of the table beside her. "Have you managed to find another way to keep track of Narcissa?"

"No," she said, a deep frown evident in her voice. "Have you finished upgrading and stabilizing all the wards Dumbledore asked you to do?"

"All but ours, and I hardly thought that was necessary, considering everything I've already done to them," he responded. She laughed softly.

"And you don't want to upset the delicate balance of resetting the generic anti-werewolf ward and keying yourself in," she said. He laughed quietly, too.

"Yes, well," he said slightly guiltily.

They lapsed into silence for a time, listening to the pop of the settling coals. They both twitched nervously at a creak from the stairs; Remus turned, but dismissed the noise as part of the not-silence of wooden groans and persistent drips that was the decaying Grimmauld Place. He was tired enough to completely miss Molly Weasley, who shrank back into the shadows of the stairwell in surprise when she saw the two silhouettes against the red light of the dying fire. She was inclined to jump at anything unexpected these days, what with Arthur in the hospital and Harry hardly eating or sleeping.

Before she recovered enough of her nerve to make her presence known, Remus straightened and turned to face Tilia. "What's bothering you, then?"

He smiled as Tilia glared up at him; because she could not make out his expression with his back to the fire, she sensed his concern rather than saw the mild amusement he projected at her displeasure.

"It's nothing."

"Hm," he snorted disbelievingly.

"I was just thinking about Molly's boggart," she said quietly.

"Molly's boggart? From last August?" he asked in surprise. "It's almost Christmas. Why are you thinking about that now?"

She sighed, looking away from Remus' shadowed face. "Sirius was talking about the Death Eater hide-out we emptied last time, and I remembered that Alastor accidentally released a boggart. Sirius said you, me, and James were wimps for being afraid of it because it was only an illusion. It wasn't really what we were afraid of."

"I remember," Remus murmured.

"Well, I couldn't help but think that my boggart that day was the same as Molly's in August. And the war was worse then. The Order had already lost so many people…" she whispered.

"Was it really?" Remus said. "I know your boggart hasn't changed in fourteen years, though I'd be glad to never see it again. But—"

"This was before we lost everyone," Tilia told him.

"So it was." Sighing, he took a step nearer the table and wrapped his arms around her. She shifted her legs so she could pull him closer and rested her head on his shoulder.

"You know, you and Molly have a lot in common," he said suddenly.

"What?" Tilia asked incredulously. From where Molly was sitting on the stairs, listening, she twitched in surprise as well.

"You were both raised pureblood, though on a different scale, and you've both lost your brothers, though under very different circumstances. You made marriages your mothers didn't approve of, again, to a different scale; you both have terrible tempers, and you're extremely loyal to those you love and dangerous to those who harm them," he explained.

"If we're so alike, why can't we get along?" Tilia asked, her voice muffled by his shoulder.

"I don't know," Remus murmured. "Maybe you see only the gaping differences, and not the similarities."

Tilia laughed softly. "When did you become so perceptive?"

"Didn't you know? I become clairvoyant at two-thirty in the morning, though it only lasts until three, I'm afraid," he joked quietly.

Tilia looked up at him and smiled, then kissed him deeply, curling both her legs and arms tightly around his waist and neck respectively. He took a step back, and she lowered her feet so he could gently set her on the floor before allowing one of his hands to twine in her hair as the other locked around her waist, holding her close.

Neither of them noticed Molly Weasley slip back upstairs without the glass of water she came down for, a thoughtful expression on her tired, anxious face.


	21. Chapter 20

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to J. K. Rowling. Tilia is mine.

Twenty: The Department of Mysteries

There were six people in the kitchen of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place when Snape's doe Patronus settled in front of the fireplace, alerting them to the fact that six students, including Harry Potter, had entered the Forbidden Forest and had not returned, presumably because they were heading to the Department of Mysteries to rescue Sirius.

Tilia and Remus exchanged a glance that the present day Harry could not interpret, Sirius swore loudly, and Moody sent a reply to Snape, offering to take Kingsley, Tonks, and both Lupins to help the children. They all stood, securing their wands, and Harry was fairly sure that it was only a surprise to Sirius when Snape asked that "Black remain behind to inform Dumbledore of his godson's latest rash act."

Sirius swore again. "There is no way I'm staying here," he snarled.

"Someone has to tell Albus," Moody growled back.

"Tonks could do it as well as me," Sirius hissed.

"She's a trained Auror," Moody snapped over Tonks' protest.

"So was I once," Sirius shouted. "Or have you forgotten?"

"Sirius."

He looked at Remus. "Don't you start."

Remus began, in a quiet, reasonable voice, to remind Sirius that he was a wanted ex-convict who couldn't be caught in the Ministry of Magic, but Sirius cut him off. "It's easy for all of you to say 'sit' and 'stay,' isn't it? But they're going to hurt my godson, and they used me to do it! I won't just sit here and wait for Dumbledore, not while Harry's in trouble."

"Sirius, you're the reason Harry left. If you get hurt because he needed your help to help you—"

"Shut up, Tilia. You don't understand," he said.

"I rather think I do," she said, sharply.

"_They're not using_ _you_."

"It doesn't matter right now. Someone has to stay," Kingsley said. "Dumbledore will be here soon."

Sirius glared at them all. "Kreacher!" he shouted suddenly. The rest of them jumped at the sound of the house-elf's appearance.

"Yes, master?" Kreacher said, bowing obnoxiously low.

"Wait for Dumbledore, and when he comes, tell him where we are and what's happening." He nodded defiantly at the others, daring them to protest.

"As master wishes," Kreacher grumbled, trailing into a string of offensive epithets that Sirius ignored for once. He looked at Moody, who glanced at Remus and Tilia, Sirius' family.

Remus sighed. "Come on, then, if you insist. We're wasting time."

All six of them left.

A few hours and an eternity later, Remus and Tilia Apparated home, dropping what clothes and cookware they had had at Grimmauld in the living room. The post-battle briefing was over, and there was no longer any reason for the Lupins to stay in the dark emptiness of headquarters. They got ready for bed in silence, mechanically following a routine that had been well-established for years. It wasn't until they were curled up under the covers that Tilia spoke in a toneless voice.

"There had to be just one more bad memory at that horrible place, didn't there?"

And then she began to sob.

Remus held her tightly, unable to say anything, and unable to cry himself. He hadn't cried since the night of November 2, 1981, when he had grieved for all his friends, Sirius included. As far as Remus saw it, their friendship had been on borrowed time for the past year. In some ways, it had been wonderful to have his friend back. In other ways…

Not for the first time, a rush of guilt swept through Remus when he thought that he wouldn't have to hear Mrs. Black screaming until the next meeting. He was glad to be in his own bed now that the battle was done, relieved that he wasn't looking forward to a day of listening to a man a lifetime away from him recount the battle blow by blow. He was grateful that he would no longer have to watch an old friend he hardly knew, and yet knew better than almost anyone, sink further into alternate fits of melancholia and rage.

That wasn't how it should have been, Remus thought. Sirius should have been out there fighting the whole time. But he hadn't been, and Remus shouldn't have let him go that night. He smiled wryly at the dark ceiling. The right decision was always so apparent after the choice had been made. Unfortunately, hindsight could only see what had happened, not what could have been, and Remus was plagued by the infernal "What if…?"

He sighed heavily.

Sniffing in an attempt to control her tears, Tilia looked up at Remus. "What are you thinking about?" she asked, her voice trembling with the effort of catching her breath.

He sighed again. "I was just wondering what would have happened if I hadn't let him come," he told her quietly.

"Oh," she said. "I don't see that you could have said anything else that wouldn't have been a grand waste of time. As soon as we'd left, he would have followed anyway." Though her tone was matter-of-fact, Remus could see that she still looked miserable.

"What else is bothering you?" he asked gently, knowing it was probably a stupid question.

She understood. "I just feel horrible," she whispered.

"Why?"

"Sirius has been as good as dead since he was sentenced to Azkaban. I can't help thinking that in the moment he died he was more alive than he had been in fourteen years. Isn't that awful?" She took a shaky breath, and buried her face against Remus' shoulder again.

"If it's any consolation, I was just thinking that I was glad that I didn't have to watch him sink any lower," Remus murmured.

For a long moment, he thought her only answer was to press herself closer to him. Then she sighed, and said, "I'm glad I'm not the only one who thought that." She swallowed, then continued shakily, "I was so sure we'd lost him the first time, and I know part of him never left Azkaban, but I'd hoped that he'd, you know, get better with time. He's the only family I had that—"

Remus placed a finger to her lips, stopping her before she could get worked up again. "Then let's remember him as he was. We promised we would last time."

"We promised a lot of things last time," Tilia said miserably. "That we'd remember, that we'd keep living, and take care of Harry, and not get hung up on wanting vengeance—"

"This time," Remus interrupted, "_this_ time, Tilia, we'll keep them. We've got far too much to lose."

They were quiet for a long time, awake and watchful, keeping vigil for a dawn that Harry knew they would not see for another two years. The scene began to change.

The young man had watched the scene with curiosity at first, then with growing anger and shame. The shame, for _his_ reactions that night, his accusations, when he really only had himself to blame, faded. His anger simmered, however, with the thought that on losing Sirius, Remus and Tilia could turn their worry so quickly to what they hadn't yet lost. Their lack of reaction, their relief bothered him. Hadn't Tilia and Remus lost far more than Harry had that night? Hadn't they?

But the rational part of Harry knew that the war had continued over the next weeks while he had ignored the world. There had been no time for them to grieve.

The Pensieve carried him on.


	22. Chapter 21

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to J. K. Rowling. Tilia is mine.

Twenty-one: Mission Accepted

Harry, still quietly seething at Remus and Tilia's seeming lack of reaction to Sirius' death, barely noticed as the familiar kitchen of the Burrow took shape. A cursory glance showed only a handful of Order members—the Weasleys, Tonks, Kingsley, Moody, and the Lupins—sitting around the table with Dumbledore at the head. Harry sighed, wondering what time it was, and when the present day Remus and Tilia would realize he was missing. He just wanted to get out before he saw anything worse than he already had. Anything worse…

His anger subsided a little at the thought. They'd lost so much; he thought that maybe it wasn't fair to judge their reactions. Maybe they were just as numb as Harry had become in the last few months of the second war. His anger almost completely faded. But honestly, he thought crossly, how long could it take them to figure out he was missing?

He was pulled from his thoughts as the background noise of the conversation in the memory paused. Then Dumbledore turned reluctantly towards the werewolf sitting at the far end of the table. "I was wondering if you could tell me what Greyback is planning, Remus."

Harry shifted guiltily as he remembered the mission Remus had so abhorred.

The werewolf pushed his hair from his face, sighing heavily. "I wondered when you would ask me that," he said softly. "To be honest, I'm not sure what his plans are. Greyback only allows his werewolves to interact with other werewolves, preferably those in his own pack. They're not—" he seemed to be searching for the right words. "They're not allowed to be normal," Remus said, shrugging helplessly.

"I'm not sure I understand," Dumbledore said.

Remus stared down at the table for a long moment, then looked up. "'Pack is family; family is pack.' Greyback believes they need nothing more." He looked down again.

"Then do you belong to a pack?" Tonks asked. "If it's that important?"

"_This_ is my pack," Remus said quietly, looking at Tilia. She gave him a brief half-smile. Remus did not return it. He seemed to be waiting for someone to say something.

Dumbledore sighed. "Interesting, but unhelpful. Severus has been able to tell me only that Greyback is acting as a probationary Death Eater. This is not enough information for me to form a counter-plan, and if he starts attacking people on Voldemort's orders instead of randomly—well, I'm afraid that the numbers of werewolves might increase substantially. We can't afford to have all of them on Voldemort's side."

"Greyback never attacks randomly," Remus said with a short, humorless laugh. "There is always a reason."

"What do you mean?" Molly asked, horrified. "You couldn't have done anything to him, no more than any child could."

"His father," Tilia said softly. Everyone's gaze shifted to her. She sighed. "I don't know what he said, exactly, but I know Greyback took offense. He punished Mr. Lupin by attacking Remus." She gave them the same brief, rueful half-smile she'd given Remus earlier. There was another silence.

"Well," Dumbledore said suddenly, "whoever's schedule Greyback is following, I need to know what it is. We need to convince some of the other werewolves to join our side, or to stay neutral if they won't fight. At the very least, we need to stop more from joining Greyback, and by extension, Voldemort."

Remus' shoulders sagged in defeat. He didn't look up; he seemed extraordinarily interested in the knots in the grain of the table. "So what you need is a spy," he murmured, more to the tabletop than to the people listening. "Preferably one who can fit in without losing everything."

"Yes," Dumbledore told him quietly.

"Losing everything?" Tonks asked.

Remus dipped his head lower in acknowledgement. "Greyback only allows the pack to speak to the pack…or werewolves who will soon be pack. The only way to know what he is doing is to join him. And once you're in, there's no backing out. Only traitors to the cause—to their blood—try to remain human, and I—" he sighed, finally looking at Dumbledore. "I have tried to live among wizards. I have denied pack, denied, as they say, my blood."

Tonks made a noise of disgust. "He sounds like Narcissa Malfoy, trying to convince Mum to leave Dad. She 'can't be seen with a blood-traitor,' oh, no; but Mum'd be welcomed back if she'd just leave us."

"That's just it," Remus said, turning to her. "Except that I can't be accepted in either world. I'm too much a wolf to be a man, and too much a man to be a wolf. Look, Headmaster," he said turning back, "I'm the last person who would be expected to join him. If I hadn't married Tilia maybe I could have convinced Greyback that I'd made a mistake, that I'd been chasing sunshine for the past thirty years. But I don't think he'll believe me now," he added in just more than a whisper. "Seventeen years of rumored marital bliss and then I show up on his sewer-step? It's not probable."

"Unless she kicked you out," Bill said, with a shrug. "I mean, why not?" he asked the room at large. "It's not like the world's been kind to her; what if she'd got fed up with it? Wanted the recognition due to her for the work she's done?"

Tilia frowned. Bill saw it and quickly added, "Hypothetically, obviously. As a cover story."

She looked up at him. "No, no. It _might_ just work. But I don't want him to go."

"If it helps in the long run," Dumbledore said.

"I know," she said. "It just took us so long to fully convince him that he was human…"

"Tilia," Remus said reproachfully. She shrugged.

"Remus, you don't have to give me an answer now. I suppose I hadn't realized the full extent of what I would be asking—if it truly bothers you that much…" Dumbledore said quietly.

"No, it's not a choice," Remus replied. He placed a hand on Tilia's arm to stop her protest. "You need the information. And if it keeps more people from having to live like—from losing themselves…then there really isn't a choice. No one should have to lose themselves."

"Just so long as you don't lose yourself," Tilia whispered as the scene swirled away.

It reformed into the Lupin's living room. Tilia was standing between Remus and the door. Harry frowned. He'd never seen Tilia look so anxious, nor Remus so frustrated.

"Remus, what's wrong?" Tilia asked urgently.

"I've already told you, Tilia, I can't stay," he said, exasperated.

"It's been sixth months. You're hardly ever here anyway. Does it matter?"

"What part of 'can't' do you not understand?" he asked angrily.

"Why won't you give me a straight answer?" she shot back.

He looked away. "It doesn't matter why. I'm leaving now." He tried to walk around her, but she stopped him.

"What have they done to you?" she asked softly. "You were fine at Christmas." She paused, then shook her head. "No, you weren't," she contradicted herself. "You just pretended you were. You come to meetings, you give your report, and you leave. When was the last time you had a decent conversation with someone?"

"Yesterday," he said stiffly.

"With who?" she asked sharply.

"Alem. Now if you'll excuse me—"

"I meant one of us," she interrupted angrily. "You don't remember, do you?"

"That's the problem," he exploded suddenly. "It's always us versus them. You're no better than they are, looking across a gulf that doesn't exist except in your minds—"

"And you!" she exclaimed. "You're no better either, if you leave—"

"I have to."

She looked away, fighting tears. "I threw everything away for you," she hissed.

"No, not for me," he snarled. "You would have left them anyway."

"I didn't mean my mother, or the Blacks," she snapped. "I've been working for squat, listening to all the rubbish everyone says, defending you for years, all so we could scrape through together, and now you're going to tell me to just let you walk out?"

"If you wanted to leave you could have. I certainly wasn't stopping you."

"But that's just it," she said. "I don't _want_ to leave. I love you; that's never been a question. But you—"

"I should've left. Hell only knows why you woke up every night I actually worked up the nerve to leave all those years ago. It would have been for your own good," he said sharply.

"My good, or your peace of mind?" she asked bitterly. She ran a hand over her face, sighing. He tried to pass her again, but she stalled him by asking, "Have you ever wondered if we would've lasted this long if—if they'd lived?"

He nodded. "Sometimes."

"Stay," she whispered. "Please. You can't leave me alone, after everything. You promised—"

"No," he stopped her softly. He stepped towards her, reached out, and touched the crescent moon pendant he'd given her when he'd proposed. "You shouldn't be chained to someone like me."

"Remus…" she blinked back her tears, then suddenly pulled him to her and desperately kissed him.

He turned them so that she was no longer blocking the door, and pulled away. Gently, he touched her face, then whispered, "I have to go."

Tilia reached forward to stop him, but he closed the door and tapped it with his wand to lock it against her. By the time she fumbled the lock open, he was gone.


	23. Chapter 22

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to J. K. Rowling. Tilia is mine. And, if you've read any Remus/Tonks, this is my take on the infamous Hospital Wing scene. It's just--not canon. :)

Twenty-two: The Death of Dumbledore

Harry swallowed as the scene changed. He'd thought everything was fine that Christmas, and yet, apparently only a month later Remus had walked out. Harry hadn't known; no one had ever mentioned it. But then, Harry had neither seen nor heard from Remus in the six months between Christmas and the night Dumbledore had died, so his resolve to never come back obviously hadn't lasted long…And speaking of the night Dumbledore had died…

Tonks looked around the silent ward. "Well, one of us should probably make sure Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Luna get back to their common rooms. McGonagall's talking to the Heads of Houses, so they'll probably make an announcement soon, especially if Remus is right and they are talking about closing the school."

"No," Ginny said. "We can stay here. Bill—"

"Ginny," Molly said quietly. "There's nothing more you can do here. We'll let you know as soon as he wakes up."

The children started to protest, but Remus said, "Molly's right. He probably won't wake up until tomorrow. You should get some sleep. You've had a hard night."

With heavy sighs and a fair amount of grumbling, the children followed Tonks out. Then Molly looked up.

"Do you have to go back, Remus? I mean, with Dumbledore—" She choked a little.

"We have Greyback Stunned upstairs," he told her quietly. "I'm not going back."

Tilia looked up, a hopeful expression on her face. Harry remembered seeing her fighting, but she had been uncharacteristically quiet all night. Now that Harry got a closer look at her, she seemed tired, as if she hadn't been sleeping well. Remus refused to look at her.

Molly frowned. "Then I suggest you take your own advice, Remus. Get some sleep. In a proper bed, too," she added, scolding.

He gave her a wan smile that didn't last for long. He sighed. "Good night, then," he murmured. Always the pessimist, he added, "For what it's worth."

Molly shivered, but didn't reply. Remus nodded to Arthur, then turned to leave, Tilia close behind. They followed the familiar, empty corridors to the marble staircase in tense silence. Tilia gave a small gasp as they passed the broken hourglass, the rubies spilled across the floor glimmering in the light of the last few burning torches. They made no other sound as they continued through the battered front doors and onto the grounds.

Remus paused for a moment, lost in thought, staring at the dark grounds without seeing them. The only light came from the castle windows and the garish Dark Mark that was just beginning to fade. There was no moon.

"It's good that Fleur still wants to marry Bill, isn't it?" Tilia asked softly, but abruptly. Remus jumped.

"What? Oh…yes. I suppose."

"You suppose?"

"He won't be a full werewolf," Remus murmured.

Tilia sniffed dismissively. "So you keep saying." When he didn't respond, she hesitantly took his hand. He did not pull away, so she led him towards the lake. He followed unresistingly. Again they walked in silence until she stopped under an old beech tree. She sat, and he settled himself beside her. For a long moment they both stared over the water, backs turned on the castle.

Finally Remus asked, "What are we doing, Tilia?"

She looked at him. "I don't know. Why don't you tell me?"

He shook his head. Tilia smiled wryly. "Remember after the dance fifth year? Before the next Hogsmeade weekend, you kept saying you wanted to ask me something, but it always was, 'oh, um, let's get that Transfiguration done, shall we?' And then that Friday we went for a walk, and it was all icy, and you slipped right here, and we both went down, and I ended up kicking you in the head?"

He nodded slowly. "Yes?" he said, though his tone said something more along the lines of, "What's your point?"

"And then you asked me out the first time. Properly, anyway. We'd been dating in denial for years," she said.

"I remember," he sighed. "What has that got to do with tonight?"

"I was wondering if I had to kick you in the head again to knock some sense back into you," she said quietly. "Or are you going to come home tonight?"

"Tilia…" he murmured.

"Yes?" she asked hesitantly, not liking his tone.

"You don't know what it's like to live on the edge." He paused. "No, you do live on the edge; you've never lived beyond the edge of society. You didn't hear what they said…about me, and you…twisting lies until you couldn't tell what the truth was anymore. They have their own rules, their own truths. I couldn't believe in both realities.

"They're not monsters, Tilia, but they take the lies of monsters as truths. They can't reconcile our reality with their reality. And the less I managed to convince them, the less I believed myself." He gazed over the lake and inward, remembering.

"The more I saw of their world, the more I became convinced I'd been chasing sunshine when I belonged to the shadows. Down there the shadows are tangible. It was easy to lie in the beginning, but their poison was stronger. I'd had to claim I lost everything. How could I convince them of my reality, when I'd given it up in order to convince them? I'd failed—"

"No," Tilia interrupted. "That's not what the problem was."

"Then what was the problem?" he asked despondently.

"You have everything they've ever wanted: a minimum of acceptance, a means of support, and people who love you. Someone who loves you, anyway. I don't know if they know about the others."

"I don't understand. It's not what I had, it's what I'd given up," he said.

"No, Remus, you had everything, and they didn't know what to think. On one hand, they were laughing at you, the pretentious prick who'd lived in the other world, who'd failed; but on the other hand, if you, the only one who's had anything, failed, what hope was there for them? What you didn't have wasn't the problem. It was the losing everything that was the problem."

He finally looked at her.

"At least the information you brought back was useful," she said, gripping his left, his bitten, shoulder. She looked away, then quickly turned back again. "Come home, Remus. Everyone knows you've been gone now. If you come back, people will find out and it'll trickle down, and maybe that will do some good, too."

He pulled away. Watching the scene, Harry cursed. How much of an idiot could Remus be? Tilia was forgiving him and yet…

Tilia bit her lip, tears welling in her eyes. Glancing back, Remus frowned. "Why are you crying?"

"Because I've lost you. You promised you would never lose yourself, promised you wouldn't leave me alone." She sniffed.

"I did, didn't I," he muttered, more to himself than to her.

They sat in frozen silence, until Tilia frowned in sudden realization. "Remus, you said they're not monsters, but that they listen to monsters. If you condemn them for that, you must also condemn yourself."

"How dare you—?" he hissed, and then his eyes widened. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He stared at her for a moment, then turned away, burying his face in his hands in sudden shame. "Oh, God," he whispered. "Til…"

"I'm here," she said, placing a hand on his bitten shoulder again.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into his hands.

She swallowed. "What was that?"

He whirled to face her. "I'm so sorry." His eyes sought hers, held her gaze for a long moment. She smiled weakly, then pulled him to her, burying her head against his shoulder.

"Why do you always go to the left?" he asked hoarsely, hardly daring to contemplate the fact that she was forgiving him.

"Same reason I always kiss your scarred cheek," she mumbled. "To remind you that I don't care."

He sighed, and leant his head against hers, placing a kiss on her hair. "I love you, Tilia."

She pulled away, smiling, then got to her feet and offered him a hand up. "You too," she said softly. "Let's go home."


	24. Chapter 23

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to J. K. Rowling. Tilia is mine. I don't think I directly quoted anything, but this chapter is modeled on the part of Chapter 11 of Deathly Hallows in which Remus tries to join the Harry, Ron, and Hermione, so some of this chapter should mirror DH.

Twenty-three: Help Dismissed

Harry was momentarily confused as the front hall of Grimmauld Place materialized around him. He groaned as he realized when the memory must be…early on in what should have been his seventh year. Ron, Hermione, and his younger self were standing on the stairs, wands pointing into the cloud of dust thrown up by Mad-Eye Moody's jinx. Walburga Black's portrait was screaming in the background.

"Hold your fire; it's just us," Tilia's voice called.

"Thank goodness," Hermione said, closing the curtains over Mrs. Black. In the ensuing silence, Ron lowered his wand as well. The younger Harry had a good idea as to who the "us" was, but checked just the same.

"Show yourselves," he called to the two silhouettes, and they moved into the lamplight.

Tilia smiled faintly. "I'm Tilia Lupin," she identified herself, "and I am an Animagus, a small, black fox, nicknamed Russet. I consider my greatest achievement to date to be the discovery of the Wolfsbane Potion, though I've received little credit for it. I'll speak for Remus, just to speed up the process."

"All right," Harry said, finally lowering his wand. "But I had to check. The Death Eaters—"

"There's two outside," Remus pointed out.

"We know."

"Has Snape shown?" Tilia asked.

The three shook their heads.

"I'm sorry we weren't here sooner," she added. "Bellatrix was tailing us; I think she was hoping to find out where we live, but we haven't actually been home yet…and then we had to avoid your friends in the square, so we had to Apparate exactly on the top step, and there almost wasn't room for both of us…"

Remus placed a hand on her shoulder and she stopped talking. "Let's go downstairs. There's a lot to tell you, and we want to know what happened after you left…"

The five settled in the kitchen, the present day Harry sitting invisibly beside his younger self. He barely paid attention as the three listened in horror to what Voldemort's Ministry was doing. This time he noticed that Remus and Tilia did not seem surprised that Voldemort had taken the measures he did, and he was far more grateful for the concern they showed when they heard what had happened in Tottenham Court Road. He shifted uncomfortably as Lupin broke the horrified silence, and wished that the memory would change, knowing that it wouldn't yet.

"Harry," Remus said, "I understand if you don't want to confirm this, but we—the Order, I mean—were wondering if you really are still acting on Dumbledore's orders."

"Yes, we are," Harry replied.

"Can you tell us what you have to do?" Tilia asked.

"Dumbledore told me not to tell anyone but Ron and Hermione," he said. "If he didn't tell you…"

"That's all right," Remus said. "Still, we," he glanced at Tilia, who nodded, "we were wondering if we could be of some help. Either, or both, of us, in any way. We don't really like the thought of you alone on some nightmarish quest—"

"—Not that we don't believe you can't take care of yourselves," Tilia added. "After everything you've done, we'd be fools to think that. But Voldemort's blocking all channels of communication now. This time, you truly will be alone, and finding you is his top priority. We're both willing to help protect you, Harry, for as long as we can."

Harry sighed. He wanted to accept their offer, but if he did, he would have to break his promise to Dumbledore because he couldn't keep the Horcrux hunt a secret if Remus or Tilia were around all the time. And—

"I don't want to lose anyone else simply because they are trying to stand between me and Voldemort," he said quietly.

"We're already exceptionally high on his wanted list," Tilia said. "The fact that we would be with you would not change the Death Eaters' priorities much."

"Because you're in the Order?" Ron asked, clearly thinking of his family, half of whom were in the Order as well.

"Because we're the ones who slipped through his fingers," Remus said. "Tilia's a pureblood, one of the oldest lines, and I'm a werewolf. We're prime Death Eater candidates, except for the small problem that we don't agree with his philosophy, and chose to believe in Dumbledore's. And we wanted to protect our family."

"And look where that got you," Harry said, growing angry as they persisted, pressing him to make a decision that was obvious to him, as much as he didn't want to actually make the choice.

They both stared at him, shocked.

"The best thing you can do right now is to do just that. Protect our family, help protect the Order. Running around with us won't do any good."

"And what if something happens to you three, Harry?" Tilia hissed. "You won't tell anyone what you are doing, but you won't let anyone help you, or protect you. What do we do if something happens to you?"

"There's nothing you can do," Harry said, thinking of the prophecy.

"That's a tad egotistical, isn't it?" Remus asked, his voice dangerously soft. "Unless you'd care to explain?"

"I've already told you I can't," Harry said angrily. The older Harry recognized Remus' words to Tilia the night he left, noticed his grimace, and understood what his younger self had refused to listen to.

"Secrets only tear people apart, Harry. You end up hurting people you never mean to hurt—"

"So I should break my promise, then?" Harry shouted. "Is that all war is? Secrets and broken promises? I'll be fine. You just make sure we have something to come home to, if you can."

"Harry," Tilia began in a tone that Harry did not want to ever hear again, but Remus gripped her arm, shook his head, and pulled her toward the stairs. The scene dissolved as the Lupins left in silence.


	25. Chapter 24

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to J. K. Rowling. Tilia belongs to me.

Twenty-four: Potterwatch and the Battle of Hogwarts

Tilia Apparated into her front yard with a curse. She stumbled, swore again, and then ran into the house. "Remus!" she called.

"Yes?" he asked, surprise on his face as she caught him in a tight embrace. He had just swung his cloak around his shoulders. "What happened? You're supposed to be at work."

"Narcissa was there," Tilia told him as she released him. "She was talking to Edmund, around the corner from where I come in. Cissa said she needed to talk to me—he told her I wasn't coming in today. I'd only just got there, so I turned to leave, but Bellatrix was behind me already. I thought she'd hit me with a spell, but now I'm not sure…well, anyway, of course I Disapparated. I can't go back."

"I guess not," Remus murmured, pulling her back against him in another hug.

"And where are you going?" she asked.

"Potterwatch today if—" he paused as he glanced out the window, then borrowed what had been one of Sirius' favorite swearwords.

"What is it?"

He drew his wand quickly and tapped her cloak. "_Finite Incantatem_," he hissed. She looked at him, confused, as a slight crackle marked the end of a spell.

"What?"

"I guess Bellatrix did manage to spell you. It must've been a tracking spell," he said quietly. "They can't get in, they can't even see us without the password, but they know we're here now."

She turned to look out the window, and saw four Death Eaters standing on the pavement just outside the wards, waiting. "I'm sorry," she began, but he shook his head to stop her.

"It's not your fault."

"Just so long as you remember to tell everyone to Apparate directly inside the wards now," she said. "We can check after. If they don't know the password, they shouldn't be able to get in anyway."

He nodded grimly. "I'll be sure to mention it," he said. He glanced at his watch. "I'd better go." He gave her a small smile. "Fifteen minutes. Password's 'Albus.'"

"Go on, then. And be careful," she said.

He nodded again, once, then slipped out the door. He didn't chance it, simply Disapparating from the porch with the grim satisfaction that he was defying Voldemort literally right under his Death Eaters' noses.

The memory blurred, changed, and for a moment Harry stood in the Great Hall on the night of the last battle; the students were being evacuated and Kingsley was assigning leaders to groups: Fred and George to the "secret" passageways, the Heads of Houses to the towers, and himself, Arthur, Remus, and Tilia to the grounds…

The scene dissolved and reformed into utter chaos. The invisible Harry whirled on the spot, unsure as to whether this was Remus or Tilia's memory, since he had viewed what seemed to be a mixture of both. He knew nothing of what had happened during the fighting that night, except what he had seen himself. A flash of red flew wide straight through him and he turned to see Remus retreating from Dolohov, simply holding a shield against the Death Eater's barrage of spells.

"You can't hide behind that shield forever, werewolf," Dolohov called.

Remus didn't answer, grimacing as one of Dolohov's spells slipped passed the outer edge of the shield.

"He doesn't need to," Tilia panted, appearing behind the Death Eater at a dead run.

"What—?"

Tilia dodged suddenly, and Greyback, who had been tailing her, was blasted backwards by Dolohov's curse. Remus' Stunner caught the Death Eater in the back as he made to turn.

"Thanks," Remus and Tilia said simultaneously. They both grinned at each other, then ducked two Stunning Spells and turned back-to-back…

Silence suddenly pressed heavily on Harry's ears. The grounds were dark, devoid of the flash of spells as people dueled, but seething with Death Eaters. And then came McGonagall's horrible scream as the castle's defenders saw the supposedly-dead Harry in Hagrid's arms. This time he was able to make out Tilia, Remus, and Molly Weasley's cries on the heels of Ginny, Ron, and Hermione's outburst, just a beat before the whole crowd took up the cry and spilled out onto the lawn.

And then Neville dared to defy Voldemort, acting Harry supposed, in an effort to get to Nagini as Harry had asked him to…and Voldemort unwittingly handed Neville exactly what he needed to finish it. And in a blur, the crowd rushed forward as Neville destroyed Nagini and the reinforcements came over the wall to join Grawp and the centaurs.

This time, Harry was able to pick people out of the crowd. As the mass of people sought to get into the Great Hall, or were driven there, he saw Remus and Tilia deflecting curses aimed at those who couldn't see the curses coming, saw Mr. and Mrs. Weasley beaming at the sight of Charlie in the lead with Slughorn, both of whom were throwing curses. And right behind them came Edmund Daughton, throwing clay balls that exploded on contact, apparently containing some sort of acid, which explained some of the stranger injuries Harry had heard about in the general aftermath. He also saw McGonagall and Kingsley struggling to engage Voldemort, to minimize the damage the Dark Lord was causing…

And then the memory skipped, fading out and back in to the end of the battle. He caught a glimpse of his younger self, surrounded by his five closest friends. Not far from them, Tilia had grabbed Remus and was kissing him soundly, despite the fact that they were in public. Remus was crying for the first time in twenty years—this time from happiness.

And all across the Hall the same words were echoing: "It's over…"

"Harry?"

He whirled and his eyes widened as he saw that the present day Remus and Tilia had finally found him.

"Harry, what—?" Tilia began, but he cut her off.

"I'm sorry. I was trying to find my book, and I tripped, and the cabinet was open, and I don't know how to get myself out, and I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

Remus gripped his arm. He stopped babbling.

"It's okay, Harry. How long have you been in here?" Remus asked as all three floated up from the depths of the Pensieve.

"Um, what time is it?"

"Half past ten," Tilia told him as they gently landed in the living room.

"In the morning?" Harry asked. The other two nodded and Harry groaned. "All night, then. And I'm gonna be late."

"I'm sorry," Remus said. "We only just got up. We thought you'd left, until we noticed that the Pensieve was glowing."

Harry shrugged. "I should have turned a light on. Anyway, thanks for getting me out. Um—" he paused. "I have to go, but, can we talk later?"

Tilia and Remus glanced at each other, then nodded. "Of course," Remus said.

Harry sighed in relief. "Thanks. And I really am sorry."

They waved it off, and Harry darted upstairs to get ready for another day of Auror training.

* * *

A/N: Alright. If there are any questions about a seeming plothole, or about something that happened, or about what someone said, feel free to ask. If it is something Harry doesn't know--something he didn't see explained in the Pensieve--it might end up in the next chapter. I will try to use Harry's questions to wrap up anything that he (and by extension, the readers) might have missed...


	26. Chapter 25

A/N: Thank you all so much for waiting for the last update. If anyone wants an excuse, I was distracted by classwork. I hope this answers any questions anyone might have.

Twenty-five: Questions

Dinner that night was quiet. Harry was nervous, worried that Remus and Tilia would be angry when they found out how much he had seen. Remus and Tilia seemed to be waiting for Harry to say something. He didn't. The silence stretched almost to the breaking point.

Finally, the table was cleared and the dishes were clinking softly in the background, cleaning themselves. Harry bit his lip, and, unconsciously mimicking his mother, picked at the edge of his placemat. He wished he knew where to start.

Once again, Remus and Tilia glanced at each other. Then Remus sighed and quietly said, "How much did you see, Harry?"

The boy looked up. Remus didn't sound angry, only curious.

"Er, everything, I think. It seemed like it, anyway." Harry paused to let the two respond, but they simply nodded, encouraging him to go on. "Can I ask why you have a Pensieve? I mean, I thought they were rare…" he began hesitantly.

"Not particularly," Remus said. "Hard to find, perhaps, but not so rare as to be impossible. Did you know that you can hide memories in a Pensieve? Give yourself enough distance from a memory that it makes it easier to block Legilimens from seeing that memory?"

Harry, about to shake his head, suddenly remembered his Occlumency lessons with Snape, and nodded instead.

"That's why we have one," Tilia said. "There was every possibility that we would get caught during the war, and neither of us is an expert Occlumens. We hoped that using the Pensieve would stop the Death Eaters from gaining a greater advantage over us because they couldn't comb through our memories and find our weaknesses."

"Did it help, when you were—you know, Remus—sixth year?" Harry asked awkwardly.

Remus gave a wry smile in understanding, and said, "I think, when I was—away—that it hurt more than it helped. Physically, I was further away than I had ever been. The Pensieve made it easier for me to be emotionally distant as well. I was awfully stupid, that year. I'm sure you saw."

Harry grimaced. "Did you take Wolfsbane with you, at least?"

"No." Remus shook his head. "Another one of my stupider moments. But they would have wondered, and it would have blown my cover if they found out Tilia was sending me Wolfsbane."

"Now I see why she really didn't want you to go," Harry said. Tilia smiled.

"Like I said, it was hard enough to convince him he was human when he wasn't around other werewolves, especially because everyone knew what he was."

"Yeah, I was wondering about that. When Remus was teaching, no one knew. But everyone knew you'd married a werewolf. Sorry," he added, glancing at Remus, who shrugged.

"When he applied to continue studying spell-smithing, ward-smithing, they would have accepted him, except they received a letter telling them he was a werewolf. It was quite a scandal because he'd just graduated from Hogwarts…" Tilia sighed. "The papers didn't let it go for weeks. They forgot eventually, and then Snape reminded everyone, and it started all over again."

"Do you know who—?"

"No," they both said.

Harry cast about for something else to say. "Bill said, in the one memory, that you didn't get recognized for your work, Tilia. Is it because—?"

"Because of Remus?" she finished, raising an eyebrow. "Yes, more or less. If I hadn't been as vocal defending him, perhaps…"

Harry snorted skeptically. "As if that will ever happen." She grinned at him.

"Er, speaking of where you work, what's a night guard?"

"Someone has to make sure the potions left standing overnight don't go critical and explode. We also let people in if they need to work—say, something needs to be stirred every three hours on the dot, or the knotgrass has to be added at exactly 2:37 or the whole thing will be worthless…"

Harry stared. "O-kay," he said slowly. "Another reason to hate potions; I mean, I knew they were fiddly and complicated, but that's just plain crazy."

"I've been telling her that for years," Remus said. "Not least because some of her colleagues think it is amusing to schedule Tilia for the night after the full moon every month, and she's given up swapping because she 'doesn't want to be a nuisance.'"

Tilia rolled her eyes, and Harry smiled, some of the tension slipping from the room. A sudden thought crossed his mind, and he said, "Remus? Why did you let Tilia's boss in, that time when he didn't fire her?"

Remus frowned. "What—? Oh. That. He knew who I was and he hadn't run away yet, and he was polite, and I didn't want him to think worse of Tilia because I had turned him away. And I was curious myself. I'd heard a lot about him."

Harry nodded. "Makes sense." All three were quiet for a moment. Remus' last phrase set Harry thinking, however. "There's something I've heard a lot about, but never really found out the details," he said slowly.

"What's that?" Tilia asked.

Harry swallowed, then said, "When Sirius told Snape how to get past the Whomping Willow. Why did he do it? Sirius said Snape deserved it, that night when we were in the Shrieking Shack. But no one's ever said why."

Remus and Tilia looked at each other uncomfortably. Remus didn't quite meet Harry's eyes when he said, "To be honest, I—I don't really remember. Whatever it was though," he looked directly at Harry, "I am sure Severus did not truly deserve it. He rarely deserved much of what we put him through."

Harry looked at Tilia, but she simply shrugged, silently agreeing with Remus. "Was there anything else, Harry?" He knew that she was changing the subject, and let her. There was no reason to push them, since he still wasn't comfortable talking about Snape himself.

"Yeah, actually. Remus mentioned Tilia's boggart…What is it? If you don't mind my asking."

She shook her head. "Not at all. It's Moony, but a Moony who isn't Remus anymore, just the wolf, and terribly angry."

"Oh." Harry tried not to think about too hard about that. He remembered another incident with a boggart and turned to Remus with a frown. "In class, you turned the boggart into a cockroach. Why?"

Remus smiled and shrugged. "I wasn't planning on facing the boggart myself. It was the first thing that came to mind."

"But it isn't funny," Harry protested.

Remus laughed slightly. "Dumbledore, in an effort to promote staff unity, had us helping Severus clean out some of the old, disused cabinets in the dungeons. The house-elves had been forbidden from touching any of Severus' things, and he hadn't looked in those cabinets in years. The amount of cockroaches down there…anyway, it was laugh or cry at the mess. I chose to laugh. I planted a few in his desk just to see if I could. His face, when the one escaped and got into his best cauldron, was priceless."

Harry grinned. "Now that's funny."

All three laughed for a moment. Tilia, grinning, asked, "Anything else, Harry?"

He shook his head, then, as a thought struck him, said, "Yes. At the first feast, did Remus ever get his potatoes?"

There was complete silence for a long moment, and then they began to laugh.

"No, actually. I don't think so."

And still laughing, the three said their goodnights, and the world went back, more or less, to normal.


	27. Epilogue

Epilogue: A Love that Grows

Harry glanced out the window for the tenth time that hour. He should have been working on his homework for Stealth and Tracking, but he was bored, and his attention kept straying to the truly lovely day outside. If he hadn't needed the table, he would have taken advantage of the afternoon as Remus was.

The werewolf was sitting in Harry's line of sight, leaning against an old tree, cradled by two large, protruding roots, a book held open in his lap. His left leg was stretched out in front of him, the right was bent under the other. When he leant forward to read a line more closely, his greying hair fell in his eyes, and he brushed it away irritably.

As Harry glanced at the unchanged scene for the eleventh time that hour, he heard the back door open. Harry watched Tilia cross the yard, her short, dark hair blowing around her face in the slight breeze. Through the open window, Harry heard her say, "Remus?"

Her husband looked up at her. "Can I join you?" she asked. He nodded and folded over the corner to mark his page, before setting his book aside and stretching out his bent leg with a slight grimace, as though it had fallen asleep. Tilia made to sit beside him, but Remus tugged at her sleeve.

When she looked at him, he said, quite seriously, "There's a tree root there."

She glanced at him and noticed his change of position. "So there is," she said, smiling and taking his unspoken invitation. She carefully settled back against him, her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her and leant forward, whispering in her ear what looked to be, "I love you," to Harry, who was reduced to reading lips with his drop in volume.

Tilia tilted her head back, and Remus leant farther forward to accommodate her as she whispered back, "I love you, too." Smiling, they kissed, and Harry glanced at his homework, embarrassed, despite his recent Pensieve mishap, for intruding on such a private moment.

He looked back up when he heard their voices again. Remus was leaning back against the tree, his arms wrapped around Tilia, who was resting her head on his shoulder, her hands clasping his. They looked supremely oblivious to the world around them.

As Harry began to work again, bits of their conversation floated through the window to him. It was idle discussion, about this book or that, but they didn't need to say anything more. They were completely comfortable with each other and themselves. It was then, as he listened to their laughter, that Harry realized he wanted a love like Remus and Tilia's, a love that not only withstood the trials of a lifetime, but grew through them, and would continue to grow until the end of time.

* * *

A/N: Many thanks to everyone who followed this story all the way to the end. In the next couple of days I will be posting two short one-shots-missing scenes, if you will, from earlier in the story. Please check them out if you'd like to read more about Remus and Tilia. Also, with my permission, Shadow-ofthe-Night35 has written three stories, **Explosions, Promise, **and **Ashes of Our Youth**, that are also about Remus and Tilia. She really manages to capture the same feel for their relationship while writing stories that are uniquely her own. So, thanks for following this story, and happy reading. -Russet


End file.
